Alis Aquilae
by agryu
Summary: /AC, AC2/ Men foolishly believe that the Pieces of Eden are theirs to control, thinking themselves as predators over their prey. However, to attain its own survival, the clever mouse will turn eagle against eagle.
1. Before

Author's Note: Though not necessary, it's recommended that you have finished both Assassin's Creed 1 and 2 before reading, as this will reference events from both games. On a side note, _alis aquilae_ is Latin for "on the wings of an eagle."

**Edit as of 2012:** This story assumes that Altair and Ezio are related, and that the Apples of Eden they each handled were the same (two misconceptions that have been corrected by_ Revelations_).

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**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Before

A multitude of strange words and images passed before his closed eyes in a tangled, barely discernable stream, burning and etching into his memory with neither his comprehension nor his consent. Altair could not understand, could barely resist the flow of information as his eagle spirit was tumbled in a whirling storm of speech and figures from unknown lands and times yet to pass.

Just behind this stream like too much sunlight, the Assassin could still dully sense stabs of physical sensations, feeble attachments to the corporeal world. Beyond the confusion, he felt the marble of the fortress garden floor pressed to his chest, the water of the fountain steadily soaking into his robes, and the scalding red blood of his comrades and master upon his hands.

He had killed them. The sudden ache at this realization dammed the onslaught somewhat, the weight of the lives he had just taken dragging on him more heavily than that of a thousand enemies. It had been by his will, his blade that had torn their souls from their bodies, wiping the world of people he had come to accept as his brothers and a man he had come to see as his father.

The loss had left a furrow in his heart, one that he had at first refused to acknowledge and one that now, Altair realized blankly, the Piece of Eden was attempting to fill. He forced open unfocused eyes and managed to look past mirages of maps and cities and unfamiliar hooded faces, training his attention instead on the globe of silver flashing ominously just out of reach of his prone, outstretched hand.

"_Destroy it, then! Destroy it as you said you would."_

He shook his head, lifting himself onto his elbows and gritting his teeth against the pain. The knowledge forcing itself into his mind was too much, escalating into a persistent throb; yet somehow, he realized, each further piece of information pressed into his consciousness made him feel oddly stronger, each one leaving whispered promises of even more power. However, there was a foreboding darkness to this strength, the poisonous feeling of unearned wealth. The Assassin recoiled from it, disgusted.

This Templar treasure was dangerous, he told himself sternly as he strained towards the piece of metal. So many lives, Crusader, Saracen and Assassin alike, had been consumed and driven insane by its tempting warmth. He reminded himself that not even al Mualim himself had won against it. It needed to be stopped.

He finally closed a slightly trembling hand around the Piece of Eden, the lines of gold light across its surface burning indignantly against his skin, but he clung to it nonetheless. For a split second, the images swirling across his mind intensified into an angry howl, echoing through all his senses, before it was abruptly silenced. The golden light vanished as well, leaving Altair quite alone in the hush of the dusk shadowed garden.

All he could hear now was his own uneven breath and the distant, ever-present calls of brother eagles in flight overhead. The Master Assassin pulled the accursed treasure towards him, moving unsteadily into a sit as he did so and trying not to focus on the rapidly stiffening corpses littering the grass and stones about him.

Though the alien images and sounds had ceased, distant echoes continued to reverberate in his mind, quiet but audible all the same. Altair distractedly raised a hand to his forehead; not noticing the limb was still wet with water and rivulets of blood. He slid his eyes shut again, frowning deeply against the resonation. More irritated than pained, he muttered a low curse towards the Apple and its creators.

He lifted his head, slightly surprised at his own thought. The 'Apple?' When had it ever been referred to as that? Neither al Mualim nor any other Templar had spoken of it as such, calling it only the Piece of Eden, the Word of God even, but never—

"_The Spaniard… he called it the Apple."_

"_That must have been why he sent that ship to Cyprus, to recover the Piece of Eden…"_

Altair turned sharply, hackles rising as he looked around the courtyard for the source of the words, having heard them as clearly as if he himself had spoken them. Upon seeing no one, he settled reluctantly to the fact that they were simply hallucinations from the globe in his hand. Though the disembodied speech had been in a foreign, lilting language, he had understood it all the same, almost as if they had come from his own tongue. Despite telling himself that the Piece was simply playing tricks on him, something in the accented voice that had spoken struck a chord of familiarity.

Distractedly, he pushed the illusions from his mind and slowly stood. Concentrating on keeping his balance, he pressed his free hand to a shallow but gaping diagonal cut across his thigh, the injury that had felled him in the first place. His master had not become the highest ranked Assassin by sheer luck, he conceded dully, rather awkwardly staunching the blood flow with a fold of cloth. As he did so, he looked towards the tall entrance into the fortress just in time to see Malik running towards him, flanked by two brothers from Jerusalem. Consciously, almost protectively, Altair tightened his grip on the silver globe now glinting innocently past his glove.

The rafiq slowed as he neared the injured Assassin, grey eyes passing briefly over the bodies about him with a measure of detachment. He too had killed their brainwashed fellows in order to break their supposed master's mental grip—this was nothing new to him.

"Is it finished then, brother? Have you recovered the Piece of Eden?"

Altair hesitated briefly before lifting the treasure up to eye level. "I have. But it is long from finished. It must still be destroyed." Without waiting for a reply, he turned awkwardly on his heel, sloshing through the crimson tinted water towards the lower levels of the garden. Noticing his brother's limp, Malik left his men to start clearing the bodies and tailed after him, frowning at the other's usual stubbornness.

"You're bleeding, Altair," he stated bluntly, reaching out to catch the younger Assassin by the shoulder before he could finish descending the marble steps. "Can it not wait until tomorrow at the least?" A dark glare shot in his direction had little effect, accustomed as Malik was to Altair's attitude. The rafiq met his gaze calmly, his expression an unyielding mask.

"…This artifact is a threat," Altair finally said, tightening his hold on the Piece of Eden until he heard the murmurs starting up again, wherein he quickly gentled his grip. "The fortress will not be safe until it is gone." He shrugged his brother's hand off his robes, turning again and pushing on doggedly towards the edge of the mountainside. Malik merely shook his head in exasperation and followed.

The Master Assassin stood by the low banister built into the lush grass of the cliff edge, feeling an updraft of wind swirl the tails of his still-damp robes and flick a chill across his face. He momentarily had a rather brazen urge to throw the orb as far from the fortress as he could and allow the wild forests and rivers below to swallow it.

"How would you propose to get rid of it?" Malik asked dubiously from behind him, eying the Piece from a safe distance. "This is a thing of unworldly power, I do not think it can be so quickly disposed of."

"I will still need to try," Altair said stiffly, stepping away from the railing but not meeting Malik's eyes. Impatiently minding his injured leg, he crouched and set the metal globe on the grass at his feet, feeling the other approach to watch his movements in the quickly failing sunlight. Though the silver glowed dully in the distant torch fires from the fortress windows, the Assassin realized that the metal was still obviously quite old, with blackened marks of weathering and age tainting its surface.

His hand tightened on the hilt of his curved short blade before he even willed it to, dark eyes narrowing instinctively at the Piece of Eden. As he drew the weapon, he realized that he blamed the deaths of his master and comrades on this seemingly innocent piece of silver, realized that it had been this artifact that had shaken the very foundation of their Brotherhood.

A snarl of anger curled his lip.

As for any assassination, Altair lifted his blade over his head smoothly and coldly, aiming for a weak point in his target with a practiced eye. An unfamiliar rage mounted in his chest as he aligned the point over one of the wire thin depressions across its surface, now seeing this artifact only as the murderer of al Mualim—though not the corrupted, twisted one he had faced in battle mere minutes ago, but the steadfast man who had been both teacher and leader for generations of Assassins, the man to whom Altair had pledged his life.

The eagle in him gave a screech wrought with anger and guilt and sorrow, but the Assassin himself made not a sound. With all his remaining strength behind it, Altair stabbed his dagger towards the Templar treasure, willing with all his being to see it shatter and vanish from the world, to share the fate his comrades had faced tonight.

However, the Piece would not stand for this lesser being rising against it. Accustomed as the master over all minds, it refused to comprehend that there existed men who did not succumb to it. With a flash like a sunburst, the metal orb reached out unseen tendrils of power, stopping the knife before it could connect and grappling up across its surface towards the mortal who wielded it.

Altair gave a sharp gasp of surprise, turning away from the invasive light and recoiling behind his hood. His still descending dagger deflected across a solid surface, (though whether against the artifact itself or something else, he was uncertain) and slipped instead into the earth. The rush of incorporeal wind again filled his ears, intensifying along with the golden light before him and blinding his senses.

Looking anywhere but at the heatless flash of fire between his splayed hands, the Assassin realized with a sickening lurch that hallucinations of places he had never been were whirling around him in a frenzy of images; more powerful and aggressive than those he had seen earlier. He could no longer recognize any signs of the Masyaf fortress, nor the dusk shaded sky, nor even Malik who had been mere feet away from him.

Dizzied by the rush of chaos, Altair was rather startled to feel the ground connect with the side of his head. Through a rapidly narrowing vision, he realized that the only clear thing he could see was the accursed artifact, still glowing brilliantly inches from his face. By his final threads of consciousness, the Assassin realized rather dully that the Piece of Eden was both ultimate embodiment and complete contradiction to their Order.

Open now to any retaliation the Templar treasure had in store for him, Altair closed his eyes, growing still in the grip of his ethereal captor. Even as the malevolent energy crept steadily over him, his will bravely resisted until the end, steeling itself resolutely with the Creed.

_Nothing… is true… Everything…_


	2. First

Author's Note: I apologize for any mistakes in my attempts at Italian. Fluent speakers, feel free to correct me at any time.

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**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

First

The first thing Altair registered was the wind. Even the minutest changes in it were like beacons to him; so familiar with it as he was after having scaled and leapt countless towers, ever enjoying its warm, rejuvenating touch slip against his face and rustle his feathers as he plummeted in free fall. However, the air he now pulled into his lungs felt heavy and chilling, weighted down by an unusually large amount of moisture.

It was humid, he thought with distaste. Smelling unpleasantly of damp and murk, like a dungeon by the river. This mere suggestion of capture sent a sudden strike of adrenaline through his body, his eagle flaring in panic at the possibility of confinement. Altair's eyes shot open as he pushed against the solid surface he had been collapsed against, right fist tightening compulsively against a familiar metal hilt that he had only just realized still lay against his palm.

The Assassin paused in a tense, crouched stance; his curved blade held stabbing outwards into almost pitch darkness. He let out a shaky breath once he realized he was neither surrounded by enemies nor held by chains, lowering his weapon to his side. As the initial shock drained from his system, he felt a protesting bolt of pain through his left thigh, reminding him rudely of his injury.

Altair scowled against it, reaching impatiently and mechanically to a satchel at his back for dressings while simultaneously surveying his surroundings. Instead of reassuring him, the tall, brickwork buildings encircling him distantly on all sides only added to his tension, throwing upon him the realization that he had no idea where he was.

His laceration forgotten, he stood slowly and cautiously, head swiveling as he fought in vain to find something he could recognize. It was deep night, the heavily veiled moon casting long, hampering shadows across every surface and making gauging his position all the more difficult. Squinting and blanketing his own gaze with his eagle's vision in an attempt to see more clearly, he assessed that he had returned to consciousness in a rather dusty courtyard laid neatly with flagstones, broken through only by a small well and a lush tree, set side by side at its center.

There was not a sound besides that of wind and distant water, likely due to the late hour; barely a whisper coming from the dark, curtained windows of the surrounding houses. Altair took a careful step back, his hold on his dagger not loosening, and kept the sturdy timber behind him in a rather futile attempt to feel less exposed. His eagle was silent, perched low and guarded, aware that it had entered another's territory.

_Why had he not awoken at Masyaf? Had the fortress perhaps been overrun by a foreign enemy while he had been unconscious? Had he, by some means, been abducted?_

His feeble attempts at an explanation did nothing to ease his pounding heart, the unrest and barely suppressed panic transmitting its throb to the wound across his leg. He glanced at the opposing limb, noticing that the blood had long since dried, but lay clotted and cracked unevenly in the slit cloth. One thing at a time, the Assassin told himself sternly, clamping down on his nerves.

He sheathed his curved blade and returned to a crouch to bind the injury with swift movements, punctuated only by several wary glances around to assure himself that no one was approaching. As he straightened up again, he released a calming breath, testing his left leg and discovering with relief that it would support him.

_An Assassin is able to adapt to any situation_, Altair recited mentally, flicking his gaze upon the buildings around him for one tall enough for him to climb and gather his bearings. A dark brick one in one corner of the courtyard caught his eye and he loped towards it, pushing the distracting ache in his leg to the back of his mind.

He moved instinctively into a wide shadow cast across the front wall of the two-storey structure, out of sight of non-existent watchers. However, even before he had set a hand against the brickwork, he realized that he had miscalculated somewhat. The wall he faced had been set painstakingly smooth, each brick artistically and infuriatingly aligned with its neighbors—so unlike the half-dilapidated ones he usually scaled. Those who lived in this district evidently had money to waste.

The robed man took a step back, sweeping his attention to the wood rimmed windows on the second floor instead, noting that the intricately decorated sills would be able to support his weight well enough. He began to retreat further away to take the wall at a run; however, a sudden approach of softly padding footsteps across the courtyard broke his concentration. Without a second thought, he flicked into the shelter of the building's arched entryway, leaning against a deeply shadowed door set with skillful wooden carvings of saints and pleated wings.

The approaching person must have seen the flash of white however, for the quiet footfalls stopped, as if the owner were pausing in confusion. Though Altair hoped the stranger would simply continue on their way and leave the supposed apparition in peace, he readily flexed the fingers on his left hand all the same, wary of any attack. Sure enough, the measured steps shortly resumed, drawing nearer to the lurking Assassin.

"Ezio_? Amico mio, che cosa_—?"

Altair caught a glimpse of lightly browned hair, capped neatly in red, clearing the edge of the doorway into his line of sight, before he lunged forward. His right hand found a hold in the collar of a gold-fringed cape as he twisted the young man around and forced him against the wall he had been about to climb earlier. There was a distracting shattering of wood that cut the silence like a blade as the man dropped a crate he had been carrying, scattering brushes and paint across the courtyard in a broken wave. Despite this sudden show of aggression, the other did not resist, possibly having thought the Assassin would not lash out despite his approach. A careless man, Altair thought with a tinge of disapproval.

Dangerous, black eyes met startlingly blue ones, and the Master Assassin was somewhat taken aback to see the stranger looking him straight in the face with bored indignity rather than with fear, as if he thought this was just some petty prank. Altair frowned at the lack of response, releasing his hidden blade with a practiced flick of his wrist and placing it warningly against the pinned one's throat.

There was a tight moment of surprise as the man felt the narrow steel graze his skin, his gaze passing over Altair's unmistakably cold expression, visible even through the shadows of his hood and the cover of night. As if suddenly realizing that he was under attack, the stranger shrank back, stammering out apologetic tones. The words fell on deaf ears, for they would have meant little to the Assassin even if he _could_ understand the foreign syllables.

"Where is this?" he demanded evenly, realizing he could get information much more quickly from a townsman rather than from running across such unfamiliar roof tops. However, not a spark of comprehension showed on the man's face, the clipped tones of Altair's own tongue probably meaning as little to the stranger as his own had to the Assassin. Instead, the man even seemed to have gotten distracted, staring at the weapon strapped to his left forearm with great interest and a hint of puzzlement.

Impatient and somewhat frustrated by the fact that his supposed informant was barely even paying him any attention, Altair released his hold on the other's collar with a scowl. This man was no threat, was barely even worth his time. If anything, the only useful information he had gleaned from him was that he was evidently in a town populated with some foreigners, possibly a port near the sea or a great river. He would head towards the water then; a busy dockside would be easy to lose himself in and—

The alarm was instantaneous. Altair tensed instinctively, eyes flicking upwards as a sudden, murderously dangerous aura above flared across his eagle's senses, agitating it enough to scream out a challenge to the attacker. A streak of white and blood-slashed red flashed into view and leaped from the roof in response, thoroughly startling the Assassin as his spirit heard an answering eagle's cry.

He threw himself back a few steps, nimbly dodging the tell-tale glimmer of a knife as the figure from the rooftops landed before him, slashing forward in a wide strike and forcing Altair away from the stranger he had been attempting to interrogate. The shadows obscured most of the enemy as he rushed forward again, the weapon in his left hand a blur of movement as it stabbed towards the white-robed man's chest.

Altair reacted smoothly, turning around the charge and seizing the edge of the man's wing of a cape to jerk him off balance. As the other staggered to the left, the Assassin kicked out viciously, the heel of his boot connecting solidly with the man's back. For any other enemy, this would have been enough for them to go down, but instead, Altair needed to stumble back as the man recovered swiftly, catching himself in a crouch and lunging again within the space of a breath.

He twisted hastily to the right, using his hidden blade to deflect a slash from the oddly light weapon the other man wielded, but the other was ready for him this time, and Altair felt a knee drive into his flank mid-turn. He gave a quiet snarl against the blow, staggering back a further step, but retaliating with no less ferocity.

This furious, bloodless exchange stretched for less than a few seconds, a veritable dance of tangled white and gleaming blades, but to Altair it seemed a heated eternity of dodge, lunge and parry, his eagle proudly refusing to tire as it locked beak and talon against the other raptor. However, it was not long before he began to feel exhaustion tugging at his consciousness, he realizing that it had not been so long ago since he had faced his master, not to mention the others before him, those others captive to the Piece of Eden.

Pulling away from the enemy just enough to dodge the next strike, the Master Assassin leapt unexpectedly backwards, swiftly distancing himself back towards the area the two had first engaged. He landed lightly in a ready attack stance several lengths away, raising his wrist blade defensively as he attempted to even his quietly gasping breath. However, the other seemed to think he had moved to attack the first man again, for he threw himself squarely between the two of them, growling out a warning that Altair could not understand and throwing in some words that could only be insults.

However, just as suddenly as he had attacked, the figure fell silent. Altair shifted back and realized a bit belatedly that he had stepped into a rare patch of moonlight with his retreat, throwing himself into clearer view. He stilled under the scrutiny of the man and his apparent companion, returning their stares impassively as he attempted to see the face of the man who had assaulted him, hidden as it was past the darkly woven shadows of the neighboring buildings and a white beaked hood.

_An… an Assassin_, Altair realized with a jolt, only now seeing the familiar shape of the teardrop symbol worked in fine metal at the front of the man's sash and across a leather bracer that could only be a hidden blade. Even his battle stance was similar to his, the two men standing almost in mirror images of each other, with left arms pulled back and wrist blades extended.

The Masyaf Assassin well knew that there existed other branches of the Brotherhood across different lands—the home base of _Alamut_ in Persia to say the least—with its uniforms and cultures varying, but the devotion of its men and the facets of its Creed remaining unchanged. This man was doubtlessly from a different faction, but he was a brother all the same. To harm him would be to break one of their essential tenets. Taking a chance, for he was still unsure if this was merely a trap, Altair straightened slowly out of his offensive position, allowing his blade to slide back into its cradle.

There was a pause as he felt the eyes of the foreign eagle boring into his, just as mistrusting as he was. Finally, the silence was broken, not by either of the Assassins, but by the stranger Altair had first engaged. The bearded man touched the sleeve of his friend's blood-striped doublet, murmuring quiet words as if to calm him down. Only at this did the other Assassin hesitantly relax his guard, lowering his arm to his side as well and retracting his own hidden blade.

"_Come ti chiami? Di dove sei__?_" he finally ventured brashly, accented tone ringing with suspicion and, oddly, some familiarity. Altair looked at him steadily, still unable to understand, but guessing that it was some inquiry on how he had gotten there, or perhaps why he had attacked the first man.

"Ezio, _non parla italiano_," the other said to the foreign Assassin, looking pointedly at Altair's robes which, between the clothes of the other two, stood out quite evidently. The hooded stranger muttered an impatient oath, folding his arms as he studied him for a span, before speaking again.

"_Parli… inglese_? English, then? Can you speak English?"

Altair cocked his head slightly, recognizing the language of the Crusaders. Though much of his grasp on the tongue had come from eavesdropping on conversations of King Richard's knights or occasionally from their shouted insults as he fled assassinations, there had been enough for him to have a fair knowledge of it.

"Yes, I can speak English," the Master Assassin said tiredly, rather disliking the feel of the syllables, but glad to be able to converse with the two all the same. He hesitated, equally disliking the humble courtesy he would need to show, but it appeared necessary if he was to speak with this apparently short-tempered man peaceably. "I apologize if I attacked a member of our Order, brother, but I was not aware."

"Brother? I am no brother of yours," the caped Assassin cut in hotly, the term appearing to tear at an old wound. Altair blinked at him coolly, reminded somewhat of himself before the trial al Mualim had set to him mere months ago. He would need to even more carefully control his own temper or risk crossing blades again. "Do you not address your fellow Assassins here as 'brother'? I don't think I have misused the word," he commented evenly, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing a little at the insolence.

"So you are an Assassin as well?" the other man spoke up to him at last, taking an eager step towards Altair. "I saw your hidden blade earlier—such a fascinating mechanism."

"Yes," he replied offhandedly, shifting a bit uncomfortably under the man's thoroughly intrigued blue stare. Though this man was infuriatingly open and somehow unable to realize personal space, the Master Assassin found he could not dislike him. "I… I am sorry if I injured you earlier."

As the bearded man cheerfully waved off his apology, Altair chanced a glance at his fellow Assassin and found him frowning at him, eying him rather surreptitiously with arms still crossed. "You are obviously a foreigner," he said shortly, blunt in every aspect. "What business have you in _Venezia_? I find it highly doubtful another Assassin just suddenly appears tonight of all nights. The cowl does not make the monk—how can we know you are truly, as you put it, a _brother_?"

The Masyaf Assassin started to irritably demand he respect his betters, thoroughly disliking the other's arrogant tone, until the context of the caped Assassin's words sank in, leaving in him a sudden chill of foreboding. "What… what do you mean _I_ am the foreigner? Where is this?" Altair asked, his voice rising slightly as the feeling of displacement, of confusion reared once again.

"You do not even know where you are?" the first man said in surprise, glancing at his Assassin companion who simply looked on with an air of complacency, as if he was further assured of his suspicions. The older man shook his head a bit before stating, "This is _Venezia_, or perhaps you know it as Venice, Italy."

_Italy_? A sudden rush of memory raised unbidden to the forefront of Altair's mind, he suddenly remembering a map etched with a series of uneven landmasses clustered protectively around an inland sea, the Mediterranean. Abruptly dizzied, he touched a hand to his head and realized that what he was seeing was a memory remnant from the Piece of Eden, marked by hazy golden outlines distinct to his previous, supposed hallucinations. Perhaps the knowledge of the artifact had its uses, considering of course that it could be trusted.

Taking a glance across the image in his mind's eye, he found he could recognize the distinct form of Cyprus, the island wherein it had recently been rumored that the Templars were attempting to establish a base. From this reference, he saw that Italy, the place the man claimed them to be, was a staggering distance from his home, a perilous travel by ship that he would have never dared take, only short of al Mualim ordering him to go.

This realization completely stunned him, setting his eagle spirit into a clamor. _He had crossed _an ocean_ while he was unconscious_? The mere thought was far too absurd, his mind already objecting the idea before he could completely comprehend it. The man had to be lying.

He raised his head to pose this accusation, but was slightly surprised to find the other Assassin had drawn near him in his distraction, stance threatening once again. Altair frowned, left hand closing in a fist instinctively as the other man beat him to throwing out suspicions. "What, can you not explain yourself?" he asked venomously, apparently still waiting for the answer to his previous question. "Don't tell me that you are _lost_, and have no idea how you got here. That is much too convenient."

The Master Assassin could not hold back a small snarl at the affront, holding his ground against the approach. "If I did say that, it would be the truth," he said tightly, staring fearlessly into dark brown eyes now visible with the proximity.

The tension and the threat of the impending fight must have been evident, for the other quickly spoke up. "Gentlemen, this is not the time," the first man said hastily, rather bravely getting between the two Assassins and placing a hand against both their shoulders to keep them apart. "We will call the attention of the guards if we continue to talk out here. Please, both of you, let's move this inside." He indicated the dark brickwork building Altair had attempted to scale earlier—the local Assassin's Bureau perhaps.

"That's not such a good idea, Leonardo," the foreign Assassin snapped, not moving from where he stood. "What if this man is a Templar? It would be dangerous to let a criminal into your home, I would not allow it—"

"Ezio, if I might remind you, the first time you came to me all those years ago, you were a convicted felon," the man, the one the other had called Leonardo, pointed out calmly, stepping back to gather the supplies he had dropped upon first encountering Altair. "The murderer of the _gonfaloniere_, remember? What would you have done if I had not taken the chance to trust you then?"

The other eagle frowned, thoroughly silenced. He muttered a quiet, impatient sound, giving Altair a last sidelong look before turning and following his friend to the house. The Master Assassin tailed after him, still seething quietly, but honestly grateful for the shelter they were offering. As they filed towards the small rectangular doorway, he attempted to convince himself that these people were allies; but his eagle still ruffled its feather mistrustfully, keening a warning each time one of them drew close enough for an attack.

His instincts had never been wrong before, however, despite his paranoia, no blade descended upon him. This did nothing to placate him though, for only time would tell if he could truly trust these people or not.


	3. Second

Author's Note: Hm, not much action in this one, thus it's quite short. I'll make sure to get the Assassins moving again by the next chapter. Also, thank you very much to my reviewers and watchers, your support really inspires me to move forward.

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**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Second

Though the inner room was equally as dark as the silent courtyard they had left behind, Altair could still tell that it was much larger than he had expected. Shadows clung heavily to the walls and the rafters crisscrossing the high ceiling, dangling alongside a multitude of half-finished paintings and strange wood-frame contraptions, just visible in the reflected moonlight. The Masyaf Assassin paused at the doorway as it closed behind him, a little unnerved by the sudden, confining darkness. He noticed, however, that both men in front of him moved confidently through it, proof that they frequented this building.

Leonardo, most likely the Bureau's rafiq, busied himself lighting candles, setting several of them across a large desk scattered messily with scrolls and maps. "Please, make yourself at home _signore_," he called out to Altair who was looking around the large room with mild interest now that he could see properly. Against the wall opposite him, he noticed a European couch, worked of fine cloth and neat thread work, its comfortable cushions beckoning him despite his rather stubborn refusal to relax his guard. However, feeling eyes on his movements, he instead looked over to the corner of the room where the second man had made himself comfortable.

The other Assassin had settled against a solid stone pillar at the rafiq's shoulder, still watching the white-robed one warily. The young man's hood had been pushed back, revealing long, unkempt bangs of brown hair that obscured his face somewhat even without the peak of his hood. "You have a name, don't you, foreigner?" he asked, casting an almost bored eye over him.

"Yes, but is it not common courtesy to introduce oneself first before asking someone else's name?" Altair responded flatly, moving to sit on the arm of the couch, if only to rest his injured leg. Only by doing this did he notice with a tinge of regret that the scabbard at his waist hung empty, his gold-hilted sword possibly still lying in the grass of the fortress garden. _Allah, how long had it really been since he had been there?_

"Show a little more gratitude," the man snapped back, meeting temper with temper. "We took you in; the least you can do is tell us who you are and where you came from. Or would you rather try your chances out there in the streets?"

Altair scowled, loathing it, but knowing his supposed brother was right. He stretched the pause a bit longer before finally saying, "My name is Altair. I am an Assassin from the fortress of Masyaf."

The man smirked at the small victory of getting him to speak—_was he a child to take such petty pleasures?—_before answering with a sweeping bow and almost mocking courtesy, "Ezio Auditore da Firenze. And as you've probably already heard, this is Leonardo da Vinci."

Both Assassins turned to look at the indicated man, and found him to be staring at Altair, looking as if he had just seen him. "…'Altair,' you say?" he said thoughtfully, holding the Masyaf Assassin's gaze for a brief moment before a rather broad, excited expression lit his face and he turned to begin briskly sorting through the pile of papers on his desk, evidently looking for something.

"Leonardo? What are you doing?"

"Look at his clothes, Ezio," the bearded man said eagerly, almost knocking over some of the candles he had so carefully lit as he searched. "Don't they look familiar? I was sure I had seen them somewhere before—aha!" Rather triumphantly, he extracted a stack of unfurled scrolls bound together with cord, untying them and fanning the aged parchments out on top of a large map on the table. Altair stood and approached him, unable to contain his curiosity, stopping opposite the other Assassin as all three of them looked upon the man's find.

"_Le pagina di codice_?" Ezio questioned, touching one of the evidently familiar papers and pulling it towards himself for a closer look. "What about them?"

Altair swept a perplexed gaze over the files, noticing that some had writing, while others bore various ink sketches. He ignored most of the written words, for they seemed apparently encoded, and looked instead towards the drawings. He was startled to recognize the portrait of a young woman, a hooded lady in a tunic bearing the Templar cross—it was de Sable's girl, his decoy he had met barely a few days ago. He looked with renewed interest towards the other pictures, recognizing brother Assassins in the familiar robes of his own Order crossing swords with knights, climbing walls and leaping towers, their figures arranged almost like an instruction manual.

"What is this?" he asked quietly, more to himself than to either of the other two.

Leonardo, in response to his inquiry, sifted through a few of the papers and handed him a couple of them, one of the ancient pages and another newer one that appeared to be a translation. "These are pages of what has come to be known as the Codex. They are the journal entries of a Master Assassin who lived several centuries ago." The white-robed one took them and frowned slightly as he read a few lines off of the newer piece, wherein the words had been decoded into English.

_I remember my own moment of weakness when confronted by al Mualim, my confidence shaken by his words. He, who had been like a father, was now revealed to be my greatest enemy. Just the briefest flicker of doubt was all he needed to creep into my mind. But I vanquished his phantoms—restored my self-confidence—and sent him from this world. I freed myself. But now I wonder... Did I really?_

Altair's brow furrowed in sheer confusion, realizing that the written words were a complete narration of the emotions that had coursed through him when he had encountered his master in the garden a few hours ago, practically a reflection of his inner soul. He stared at the piece of paper like an eagle into a mirror, completely unnerved at this seeming invasion of personal thought. Attempting futilely to comprehend how they had come to appear on this "Codex page," he looked up at the other two men, his off-guard uncertainty showing through his usually careful mask.

"The name of the writer of the Codex was Altair, Son of None," Leonardo supplied in all seriousness, answering the unspoken question.

"Do you recognize it?" Ezio asked plainly, meeting Altair's eyes with a certain measure of smugness. "As you can see, this man you are claiming to be died hundreds of years ago. It seems the source you were trying to use to pass off as an Assassin is a little outdated."

Realizing that his bewilderment was being mistaken for panic and guilt, Altair caught himself, restoring his impassive expression and setting the papers back on the desk. "I am not lying," he said coldly, pushing his unsteadiness behind a veil of indifference. "I do not know what this document has to do with me, but I have never seen it before."

The Florentine Assassin scoffed, rounding the table to face Altair more directly. "A likely tale, Templar. How long are you going to keep pretending?"

"I am _not_. And I see no reason why I need to prove myself to you," he snapped back, indignation mounting at being doubted so soon after he had worked for months to regain his rank and standing. "If anything, the one who should be doubted here is you."

"...Excuse me?" the other ground out, bristling visibly.

"I have been training to be an Assassin for almost my entire life," Altair stated bluntly, plowing on despite admitting at the back of his mind that his brash words were merely a defense mechanism. "True Assassins learn to mask their intentions and hone their skills with a blade. Based on our match earlier, you appear to have been schooled in neither. Evidently, you either had an incompetent teacher or you were simply an inept student. Within my Brotherhood, you would be little more than a novice."

"Ezio, don't—!"

The white-robed one took a half step back, raising his right to easily catch the punch aimed at his face. "You are also much too emotional," he said, his tone flat as he shoved the fist away. However, he was a little startled to find a hidden blade suddenly at his throat despite having just countered the other Assassin's left hand. Altair tilted his chin slightly, face still emotionless, and glanced down at Ezio's right arm to see a second device past his loose sleeve, identical to the one around his left. A dual hidden blade.

"I will not allow you to insult my father, _stronzo,_" the other Assassin snarled, shrugging off Leonardo's protesting grip on his sleeve. "I don't even know why we have to bother wasting time with you imposter. The ship from Cyprus is returning tomorrow, I can't be distracted by anything right now."

At the mention of the island, Altair remembered rather suddenly where he had heard this man's voice before. "A ship from Cyprus?" he asked carefully, speaking calmly around the knife pressed against his neck. "Do you mean the one that was sent to retrieve the Piece of Eden?"

Ezio's eyes narrowed dangerously at the mention of the artifact, his weapon hand wavering slightly in surprise. "Now I _know_ that you are a Templar," he said harshly, accusingly. "How else could you possibly know about—?"

The Master Assassin lashed out abruptly, grabbing onto Ezio's wrist in the space of his distraction and pushing against his hidden blade just above the release mechanism. The weapon retracted safely back into its sheath as he forced the other Assassin's hand away, he knowing exactly where to hold the device to avoid cutting himself. "I know about it because I am exactly who I claim to be," Altair stated firmly, not releasing his grip in case the other attempted to attack him again. "I don't know what kind of tricks that Templar treasure is playing, but it is the reason I am here right now."

The caped man scowled, jerking his arm free and taking a step back, the doubt in his own decision showing on his face now. Altair stood down as well, realizing that in speaking his thoughts aloud, he had explained the situation to himself just as much as he had to Ezio. Though he could not understand its reason for doing so, he knew that the only way for him to sort out his predicament was to get his hands on the artifact again.

"If what you say is true, how is it possible?" Leonardo asked softly, looking between the two Assassins to make sure they wouldn't begin another fight in the middle of his workshop. "Are you suggesting the Apple altered time itself?"

"I would not be surprised if it has," the Masyaf Assassin said, moving nonchalantly back towards the couch and trying to mask his steadily collecting exhaustion as he sat. "The only way I can be sure is if I can get a chance to examine it again."

"Then your timing is perfect," the rafiq said with a slight nod, looking over at Ezio. "Wouldn't you say, _amico mio_? This way, the both of you can go intercept the delivery."

"No. I will not work with him."

Altair quirked a brow at him from his reclined position on the sofa, arms folded. "And why not? Are you not accustomed to working with a partner, _brother_?" he asked dryly, not really caring for an answer but irked enough at the other man to goad him a little. "The other Assassins here must not like you very much."

"That's just it," Ezio shot back, temper extinguished now, but his annoyance evident. "Why do you keep speaking as if there are so many of us? I am the _only_ Assassin left in the entire _Italia_. There have not been any fortresses or Brotherhoods for years. I have learned to personally take care of myself and mine, especially after my father and brothers were… _basta_, I don't need to explain it to you."

The Florentine Assassin straightened, pulling his hood back into place with a sense of finality as he strode towards the door. "_Mi dispiace_, Leonardo, _devo andare adesso_. I'll leave Altair here to you."

However, he had barely made it halfway to the entrance before Altair intercepted him, rather deftly blocking his way. "I am not a child to be left behind," he said calmly, giving him a sidelong glance. "I will either go with you or behind you. Do not expect me to wait here after telling me that the Apple is so close at hand."

At this statement, Ezio seemed abruptly amused, a small smirk tugging at his scarred lip. "You think yourself capable of keeping up with _me_?"

There was no modesty. "Yes."

The other cocked his head at him slightly, his expression still smug. "Even with that leg injury of yours?"

Altair shifted back consciously, involuntarily hiding the red-tinged bandage around his thigh with the folds of his robes. Recovering quickly however, he stated confidently, "I do not need to be in perfect condition to be able to keep pace with a novice."

The caped Assassin didn't bother hiding a rather derisive snort, easily brushing off the insult this time now that it was aimed at him. "We shall see. Just remember, I have been tracking this enemy for more than ten years now, don't expect to be the one to be able to find him first."

"…If you have been tracking him for so long, why have you not located him yet?"

Leonardo gave a half-hearted wave as the two Assassins left, an action that went unnoticed by both, sighing under his breath and hoping that they would not end up killing each other before sunrise.


	4. Third

Author's Note: Just to clear things up, since Altair was taken from 1191, he's 26 as of now, but since the ship from Cyprus returns in 1485, Ezio should be 28—I just always think of him as less mature than Altair since he wasn't raised in as strict an environment.

* * *

**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Third

Altair noticed a change in the aura of the foreign eagle as soon as the door of the Bureau closed behind them. He glanced a hardness in his eyes that was not present when Leonardo was around, as if he had raised his guard the moment they had touched the street, and for once he had no doubts of the other Assassin's maturity or skill. He said nothing about it however, barely even having the opportunity to do so as Ezio took off at a sudden sprint, distancing himself swiftly from the building.

The Masyaf Assassin touched the bandage around his leg to make sure it was secure before he followed closely at his heels, realizing that this was the first time in a long time since he had run during the confines of night. Though he was fully capable of doing so, the shadows cast by the moon never seemed quite as friendly as those in the daytime, and little cover was even provided by it due to the glare of his white robes. It simply wasn't practical.

The other seemed unhampered by it however, and climbed the stone and latticed wall ahead of them with a practiced abandon that was almost careless, moving boldly forward as if the darkness parted for him like waves before a boat. Altair paused briefly, taking a split-second moment to mistrustfully test the stability of the heavily decorated windowsill before scaling it, keeping up with Ezio as promised. The conditions were well in the other Assassin's favor, he conceded a little bitterly, familiar as the Florentine eagle was with the layout of the city and the landscape of its rooftops—but he refused to lose to this brash novice, no matter how tired he felt. The two cleared the top of the building one after the other, becoming mere flashes of moonlight to any who chanced to glance up as they ran.

Only twice did Altair stumble as he followed the caped one ahead of him, and twice as well did he readjust his movements to compensate. The first was after overestimating the traction of the polished tiles across majority of the buildings' oddly slanted roofs, a slipperiness that reminded him of the slick domes of Jerusalem's mosques, and the second was upon encountering one of _Venezia_'s many crisscrossing canals.

The initial thing he noticed was the drastically heightened smell of damp, an already unpleasant thing within itself, but it was not until noticing the entire span of the river did he completely stop. He was well used to narrow waterways occasionally dissecting the houses and paths within a city, most of which he was able to clear in an easy leap, however the great expanse of water blocking their path was not one he would have expected to see walled in by stonework structures and wooden docks.

The Master Assassin glanced across the broad canal and saw that the only means of crossing was a slender rope bridge lashed between two chimneys, little more than a clothesline from his perspective. He made not a sound to betray his unease, but Ezio must have noticed his hesitation (despite the fact that Altair was convinced the other Assassin had been ignoring him), for he too paused at the edge of the dark-watered channel.

"Something wrong?" he asked nonchalantly, glancing over his shoulder at the rather rigid figure behind him. Altair said nothing, looking down at the canal and feeling a slight chill even with the already icy night wind. A sudden image of heavy, enclosing water flashed through his mind, the liquid cage twining sluggishly around him, clouded with tangled curtains of bubbles and stifled screams. He suppressed a shiver and shook his head.

Ezio regarded him mutely for a moment before shrugging and pressing forward again. He took the rope bridge at a run and balanced across it with an assured air, his cape swirling behind him like the wing of a great bird. The Masyaf Assassin followed with significantly less enthusiasm, keeping his eyes trained forward and reminding himself that falling from this height onto a street would have no different results from falling into the water.

Once they touched upon solid roofs again, Altair leapt ahead, keeping level with Ezio now instead of behind him, admittedly to make up for his show of weakness over the waterway. He carefully matched the other Assassin stride for stride, keeping him in sight out of the corner of his eye and staying barely a second behind in each of his movements. Though he had never realized it until now, he missed flying alongside another eagle, never having met any other Assassin who could keep up with him after Malik had begun refusing to acknowledge his presence, much less go on missions with him. An Assassin almost always worked alone, but rarely did he desire for it to forever remain that way.

The Florentine Assassin made no comment on the other's change of pace, but Altair noticed that he too began to mirror most of his actions, perhaps involuntarily falling in sync with him. The Master Assassin remembered Ezio's words from earlier, thought about his claims of being the only Assassin in this entire country. Perhaps it had been caused by a change in the times or even by a rise in Templar diligence, but either way he found he disliked the arrangement. He attempted to imagine living as an Assassin without the direction of a master or the support of his brothers. He could not.

"It's dawn. The watch should be changing." Altair glanced over at the other Assassin and found him looking towards the east, pausing momentarily on the wall of the chapel they had been scaling. He too stopped and followed his gaze, indeed seeing the light of the rising sun beginning to leak through the gaps between the buildings, skipping across the roiling waters of the canals to reflect against its walls. He welcomed it, thoroughly missing the warmth of the desert sands. A slight scuffling sound signaled Ezio taking the opportunity to pull ahead of him and he frowned, shaking his head as he hurried to keep up. This was the wrong time to be getting homesick.

They finally came to a halt on the bell tower of the small church, the pigeons on its rafter edges taking flight in a panicked flurry of down as the two Assassins crowded onto their perches. Altair straightened and leaned against the chill of the bronze metal cross piercing the center of the roof, watching Ezio as the other seemed to be collecting his bearings. Not far from where they stood, crouched on the edge of the sea, a large walled-in structure imposingly blocked the horizon, its position and battlements suggesting it was some type of well-guarded boat port.

"_L'Arsenale_," the other Assassin supplied, nodding at the seaside fortress and speaking more out of afterthought than anything. He looked over at Altair, a small smirk visible. "It seems that you've kept up this far, maybe I can use you."

"If you are asking for my help, you could be a little more polite about it," the Master Assassin said rather dully, more resigned than annoyed now. "Also, as I said earlier, all I want to do is retrieve the Piece of Eden again; I have no interest in helping you with anything else."

"Did I ever say this had nothing to do with the Apple?" Ezio asked innocently, feigning hurt. The other seemed to have finally started to trust him over the course of their run—resulting in the Florentine eagle growing more irritating than normal. Just his luck. "This is a Templar controlled shipping port, there is no doubt they will be bringing the artifact here. Come."

Altair could only watch as the other Assassin took two swift steps and leapt from the tower, arms spread in careless freefall. He gave him a moment to vacate the ever-convenient haystack below before following, a little surprised at the similarity of their form. As they slipped through the slowly filling streets, both trailing stray threads of straw, he glanced over at the stronghold again, searching routinely for a way in. The walls were high and the gate narrow, the brickwork of its sturdy ramparts just as smooth as most of this city's buildings. It stood protected on all sides by archers patrolling its peak and foreboding saltwater lapping at its base.

"You would propose to simply to walk in?" Altair asked quietly, dubiously, staying close as they wove through groups of passersby.

"Yes," Ezio replied, seeming to be honestly surprised that the Masyaf Assassin would think otherwise. "The shipping manifest I received yesterday said that the galley is not expected to arrive until noon, so I doubt their guard will be quite as tight now as it will be later."

"Perhaps, but I thought you said this was a Templar base? Surely they would not allow just anyone to enter?" Altair pressed, still unwilling to be assured that the other knew what he was doing simply by his word.

The other stopped quite suddenly, nearly causing an unfortunate porter to drop his load as he attempted to pass between the two Assassins. Ezio absently waved off the man's irritated reprimands as he turned to look at the white-robed one, grinning a little. "You worry too much, _nonno_," he said calmly, the amused glint in his eyes betraying the fact that the term was likely an insult. "There were probably a lot more Templars in your time, but trust me, just as there are fewer Assassins now, there are also fewer of our enemy. Most of the soldiers on duty are just low-end guards who couldn't care less about who comes in or out of here."

The Master Assassin frowned as Ezio resumed his casual pace, heading pointedly towards the gates and slowing only to flash a smile at a passing lady who hid her answering blush behind a fan. He raised a disapproving brow at the other Assassin's retreating back and tailed him after a moment's hesitation, allowing a quiet, exasperated sigh. This man needed to learn to take his missions more seriously.

The lofty entranceway to the Arsenal was intimidating within itself, the iron-wrought gate around the arched door threateningly fortified with spikes and a solid lock. Altair felt his eagle shift, ruffling its feathers warily and knowing that once this door was closed, there would be no escape from the ship port aside from through the water—which was far from a viable option for him. He paused by one of the pillars, allowing his eagle's eyes to magnify his own vision and sweeping a cursory gaze towards the surrounding area just inside the gate.

Rather abruptly, Altair threw an arm in front of Ezio just as the other was about to duck into the archway behind a group of men carrying crates. "What?" the Florentine Assassin asked irritably, moving to one side as more sailors elbowed past to get into the shipyard.

"Are you an Assassin or not?" Altair hissed back, jerking his head in the direction of the gate. "Can you not see the trap?"

Ezio frowned at him and took a second look, the white-robed one seeing the telltale flash in his eyes as he too allowed his eagle's vision to take control. "I can see nothing threatening," he said, casting a rather doubtful look at his fellow Assassin and blinking to allow the original dark brown of his eyes to return. "Just a few unknowns and the archers. None of them seem to be of much significance."

The Masyaf Assassin looked at him in disbelief; unable to comprehend that the other could miss the blatant splash of red aura, one threatening enough for even the lowest novice to sense. Could his eagle's eyes be mistaken? Ezio pushed past him as Altair hesitated, he heading confidently into the gate and speaking over his shoulder, "You don't trust me, is that it? Don't let that get in the way, I know what I'm doing."

"Brother— Ezio, wait," he called out almost desperately, hurrying forward a few steps and reaching out to stop him when he was shunted aside rather violently by a passing collection of boatmen going in the opposite direction, the preoccupied group conversing and carrying merchandise apparently fresh from off a ship. Altair frowned, staying his blade with difficulty as he lost sight of the other Assassin in the crowd. As soon as he was able, he threaded his way into the docking port despite his eagle's fluttering keen of protest.

The Master Assassin was able to catch a glimpse of the white hood several feet ahead of him and had just been about to follow when a sudden cry interrupted him.

"_Assassino! Eccolo, il hashashin_!"

Altair had the briefest urge to correct the guard that he was neither a _hashashin_ nor under the command of _Sayyiduna_ Hasan as the term suggested, but was jerked back to earth when a warning shot from a bow missed him narrowly. His eagle raised a cry of alarm, taking wing and assessing the danger with a quick, cautious eye. His curved dagger seemed to leap to his hand as he slid carefully back into a ready stance, fist tightening on the silvered hilt. A wave of men clothed in blue-striped black appeared from around the nearby storehouses and surrounded him, quite as he had expected.

Looking around for Ezio, he was thoroughly surprised to see that the soldiers were ignoring the other Assassin, most of them shoving him aside like any of the other innocents who got in the way. Only at this did he realize why the Florentine eagle had not sensed the danger—the trap had not been meant for him.

"Altair-!"

A snarled string of Italian curses and the thud of two bodies hitting the ground simultaneously marked Ezio's entrance into the fray, he pushing rudely into the enclosing circle, blades first. Altair acknowledged him with a neutral gaze, wordlessly shifting to keep his brother to his back and still attempting to measure the threat. "It's me they want," he said under his breath as the number of soldiers only seemed to swell, their glinting long swords and spears leveled at the twin phantoms. From atop the nearby walls, archers toyed with their bowstrings, attentively watching the unfolding chaos below as the bystanders fled the scene of imminent violence.

"I can see that," Ezio said shortly, flicking the red life off his hidden blades and eying the enemies around them. "But what I don't understand is _why_."

Altair had barely begun to reply when he felt an unfamiliar aura draw near, a foreboding enemy that lit up as a blooded red stain across his eagle's senses. Dark eyes narrowed as he searched for its source, not understanding why, but knowing he needed to exercise the greatest caution with this one. Behind him, he felt Ezio grow rigid, evidently also sensing the adversary, and rather suddenly, the Florentine eagle spirit gave a fearsome screech, the cry unsettling even his own eagle, twined as it was with so much grief and rage.

Confused at the abrupt aggression, the Master Assassin looked around at Ezio and saw him reach for the long sword at his side, all the while glaring at an approaching man whose face and figure were masked by a black cloak. "Rodrigo Borgia," he greeted him, a steely note in his voice and the grip on the hilt of his sheathed rapier white-knuckled.

"Auditore? I didn't expect you would be here as well," the man returned coolly, his accent slightly different from Ezio's—perhaps another foreigner? "But I have no time for your petty revenge schemes right now; I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Time or not, it matters little to me," the caped Assassin growled out, smoothly drawing his blade. "Your life is mine."

Altair frowned, looking towards Borgia and seeing that the man seemed calm despite the threat, not even making a move to unsheathe a weapon or draw back behind the soldiers. Instead, all the apparent Templar did was shift slightly, briefly bringing into view a glint of silver at his side, partially covered by the dark cape. The strike of recognition hit him just as Ezio lunged forward, powerfully knocking aside the bladed barrier in his way as the guards attempted to block him from reaching their master.

Even as he reached out a hand to try and stop his brother, the Masyaf Assassin knew that the dangerous presence he had felt had not been caused this man; or at least not him alone. A bright gold flash blinded him and all those around him as the Piece of Eden retaliated, once again defending itself from another eagle's descending talons.


	5. Fourth

**Assassin's Creed: **_Alis Aquilae_

Fourth

Altair scarcely had time to shield his eyes from the light when a sudden explosion of unseen power swept forward in a gust, knocking him back several steps despite his distance from its source. He flinched as his left leg protested against the sudden weight put on it, very nearly giving out from the force of the burst. Not even the Templar soldiers seemed prepared for the otherworldly show of energy, some giving audible cries of alarm as the eerie brush of wind that was not wind crashed through their ranks. However, the Piece of Eden's effects on them were merely slight repercussions, for it was Ezio who received the brunt of the blow.

Though the Masyaf Assassin was unable to see him through the persistent golden light, he heard the sharp cry as the other was intercepted mid-strike, felt the Florentine eagle screech in confusion as he was thrown forcibly back against the ground. The rapier was knocked from his hand, clattering across the paved stone and becoming lost under the crowd of nervously shifting guards. Turning towards his brother and shading his gaze with the edge of his hood, Altair saw him struggling to rise, though he seemed unable to, held as he was by strings of gold and incorporeal manacles.

Dark eyes slitted dangerously as he more than recognized the artifact's power and realized that he needed to protect his comrade. He turned sharply towards Borgia and ignored the burn of the ethereal light, falling to a crouch to keep his aim stable past the continuous pulse of energy. His fingers closed around one of the throwing knives pressed to his boot and, focusing on the epicenter of the sun-like glow, he flicked his arm. The knife left his hand in a glint and found its target with a resounding clatter of metal against metal.

Like a beast recoiling from a flame, the Apple seemed startled at the counter, retracting back towards Borgia in a hissing, subdued wisp. Altair regained his feet just as the armed men around them were collecting themselves, placing himself decisively between the fallen Assassin and his enemy and attempting to buy Ezio enough time to recover.

"You are not the only one who knows how to manipulate that artifact, Templar," he said, his tone cold as he readjusted his grip on his curved dagger and pointed it rather arrogantly at the foreigner.

"Altair ibn La'Ahad, I believe?" the black-cloaked man replied smoothly, casually running a finger across the Piece of Eden to inspect it for damage, but otherwise seeming unconcerned. "Well met, I'm sure."

The Master Assassin shifted, lip pulling back in a slight snarl as he heard his full title spoken by this stranger. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded, eyes flickering between the now quiet Apple and the bearded face of its new wielder. Behind him, he heard the foreign eagle giving a quiet oath as he clambered unsteadily to his feet.

"A new acquaintance told me you would be here," Borgia said, smirking and proffering the item in his hand. Altair eyed it, instinctively measuring the distance and wondering if he could reach it before the guards beat him back. Noticing this, the Templar returned it to his cloak, shaking his head but maintaining that infuriating condescending tone. "Supposed Master Assassin or not, I wouldn't try that if I were you."

"Hand that over now, Borgia," Ezio ordered tightly, coming up behind the Masyaf eagle and rubbing at his left shoulder that he had apparently wrenched upon his fall. "And I will consider killing you quickly." Altair glanced over at him and knew by his tone and stance that he was in some amount of pain, but nevertheless sensed his brother's anger still burning strongly, just under the surface. He wondered distractedly what this man had done to enrage him so.

The answer was a short bark of laughter, the mocking amusement reflected even in the expressions of the soldiers around them. "You are in no position to make demands, Assassin," the Templar reminded him, folding his arms over the crossed pendant against his chest. "Unless you have not noticed, you are currently in my territory surrounded by two score of my men."

Borgia tilted his head slightly as he looked at them; his eyes alight with tauntingly withheld information. "Besides, before you turn your attention to me, I would suggest you kill that ancestor of yours first. It will save you a lot more trouble later."

The Masyaf Assassin heard Ezio hesitate, unwilling to take the bait, but even he realized that he was curious as well. "…What are you talking about?"

"You will find out soon enough," the Templar commander replied shortly, waving an impatient hand like a father dismissing an errant son. "But right now I need to speak to Altair in private, my business with you can wait. Why don't you run along now, Auditore? My guards will not stop you."

Ezio hackled at this and started to reply heatedly, likely about to call him a rather rude name for treating him like a child, but the Master Assassin cut in. "Don't bother, brother," he said carefully, dark eyes not leaving Borgia. "This is not the time for talk. Rodrigo Borgia, was it? I do not care to discuss terms with a Templar. Either give us the Apple or we will take it from you."

"Do you truly think it is that simple?" Borgia asked slowly, shaded eyes narrowing as he took a few, rather tentative steps backwards. "Then fine, come fetch it if you are able. Guards, kill them both."

The twin eagles took the briefest moment to glance at each other, a message flashing between them, before taking flight simultaneously in opposite directions. Their first killings were landed even before the archers above them had loosed arrows from their bows, two unfortunate men falling to the ground with throats cut open and uniforms stained red. Several blades stabbed in their direction but none connected, the two Assassins having the advantage of skill and foresight, seeming able to anticipate both the shifts of their enemies and of each other even before they occurred. Aside from this, all but the bravest of archers even chanced to take a strike, most worried that they would hit one of their comrades due to the constant movement of their targets.

Despite motion being essential to make up for their lack of numbers, Altair limited his own steps as much as he could, only now realizing dully that he had reopened his wound with his misstep earlier. Gritting his teeth to distract himself from the pain, he knocked aside a halberd seeking to stab through his chest and lunged a little unsteadily forward. Mid-step, he pivoted swiftly to dodge a second swipe from a rapier and drove his elbow full into the first soldier's face, allowing a clear shot to his neck as his head jerked back. No sooner had he retracted the curved dagger, however, did two more men take the guard's place, each coming at him with broadswords.

One fell back howling as the Masyaf Assassin tore a throwing knife from his shoulder scabbard and flung it through the soldier's collarbone, but as he stepped to catch the other's sweeping strike on his short blade, he staggered, a bolt of pain shooting through his leg and weakening his stance. The metal clattered against his guard and came dangerously close to grazing his face, Altair giving a quiet grunt as he attempted to hold his ground. Just before the broadsword slipped from steel onto flesh, a white shape passed abruptly into his peripheral vision.

Ezio shouldered the guard away forcefully; dispatching him with a follow-up stab from a notched dagger he had apparently taken from another soldier. Hooded faces flicked towards each other, but there was no time for thanks, as their enemies wasted not a breath to attack, forcing them into motion again.

The Masyaf Assassin kept a careful eye on the foreign eagle from there, keeping guard on his left flank when he noticed Ezio favoring the shoulder he had injured when he had been thrown. Though the other had claimed to have been the only Assassin in the country, it was evident that this was not the first time he had fought side by side with another, for he too seemed to be watching Altair, compensating for his inability to move freely on his cut leg. Together, the two of them downed soldier after soldier, killing until the blood of their enemies began to flow thickly across the paved stones and into the sea, darkly staining the water amid the boats.

Moving thus, the Assassins were able to hold their own well enough, injured or not, but Altair realized a bit shakily that it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Kicking out to distance himself from the guard before him, he turned his head, searching first for Ezio then for an escape route. The gate they had entered had doubtlessly been barred by now, but perhaps there was a way over the wall—

A sudden voice speaking in his ear made him jump visibly, the Masyaf Assassin stabbing out to the side where no enemy stood. Confused, he realized that he recognized Borgia's voice, accompanied by the distracting rush of nonexistent wind that signified the Piece of Eden's power. Was he using the Apple to speak to him?

"_Allying yourself with Auditore will not get you what you desire. If you decide to finally think sense, return to _L'Arsenale_ alone and I will be waiting for you."_

Altair looked around for the man but was not surprised to find he was nowhere in sight. He snorted quietly to himself, wondering why the cowardly Templar was even attempting to convince him to listen. Perhaps the Apple was out of reach now, but they were far from finished. Another opportunity would come.

"Ezio!" he called out suddenly, rather startling the soldiers who had been attempting to take advantage of his temporary distraction. Assured that the other Assassin had doubtlessly heard him, Altair threw a last strike, jabbing his hidden blade forward into a man's gut and withdrawing it even before the enemy had realized he had been hit. Throwing the corpse aside, he rammed forcibly through the barricade of soldiers shoulder first and made a run for the far wall of the Arsenal, moving deeper into the boat port and snarling a little as he stumbled on his left.

Altair steadied himself and shook his short blade free of blood, sheathing it just as he heard the Florentine eagle catch up to him quite easily, he having the full use of both legs. "This way," Ezio said quickly, drawing up beside him briefly before turning on his heel towards a long, single-storey warehouse. Behind them, the enemy soldiers only took a few moments to gather their force and pursue them, their determination nowhere near as depleted as their numbers.

The foreign Assassin seemed not to notice them though, making for the peak of the low building and using a nearby barrel and pile of crates to gain the height without breaking a step. Altair lagged behind more than he would have liked, feeling his sweat weighing heavily on his robes as he dragged himself onto the top of the warehouse by the edge of its tiled roof. Despite his need to concentrate to keep his leg from giving out under him, it only took Altair a moment to see where Ezio was heading. Forgotten scaffolding hung from one of the nearby battlements, a platform hanging suspended between the parapet and the far side of the roof they were running across, about midway in height as well—a perfect path to the peak of the wall.

As they approached the ramparts, arrows began clattering about them, the archers finding them much easier targets now that they had drawn out of the crowd and closer to where they stood. With enemies both behind and ahead of them now, the two Assassins picked up the pace, presenting a more difficult mark. However, once again, numbers held the advantage.

"_Merda_-!" Ezio cursed roundly as one shot struck him in the shoulder, luckily only piercing his leather spaulder but knocking him off balance and dangerously close to the lip of the roof. Altair leapt forward, reaching out deftly and dragging him back in line before the Templar soldiers could reach him. The Florentine eagle stumbled forward a few more steps with his brother's help before he recovered swiftly, falling back into pace and impatiently jerking the wayward arrow out of his armor.

Altair was first to reach the suspended scaffolding, leaping for it with difficulty and clamping onto its edge, causing the rope that held it to creak and swing precariously. He rolled onto it and felt the foreign Assassin latch on as well, just behind him, catching the platform as it swung back in the opposite direction. Riding out the pendulum movements carefully, both eagles made it to the wall without further trouble.

Ezio took a moment to draw one of his own throwing knives once they had reached the stability of the stone battlements, cutting through the already aged rope of the platform they had just left to keep the Templar soldiers from following. The Master Assassin could not help but smirk as the guards behind them shouted rather unintelligibly in angry Italian as the two fled out of reach, but none below made a move to find another way to them. Some things were always the same, no matter the country.

Altair followed Ezio to the side of the rampart, ignoring the fast approaching archers who had drawn blades now and were attempting to reach them before they escaped. The Masyaf eagle hoped distractedly that there would be a tower or building near enough to the edge of this wall for them to reach for when they leapt, but he jerked to a complete standstill when he saw that all that awaited them were the hungry jaws of the sea. _Oh Allah…_

The Florentine Assassin had all but jumped before he noticed the other's uncertainty, and he stopped himself just in time, looking back at him in confusion. He clung to the edge of the stone parapet, staring at him quizzically for a span, before seeming to remember the similar situation from earlier that morning.

"You cannot swim." It was not a question.

Altair drew back a few steps and ground out rather defensively, "I will find another way to escape."

"There is none," Ezio said impatiently, throwing a glance towards the archers who were mere feet away now. "Isn't this what you call a leap of faith? Come on, I'm not about to let you die now."

The Masyaf Assassin met his gaze hesitantly, feeling his eagle still keening quietly in distress, before shaking his head and firmly throwing his fears to the wind. He took the final steps at a run and launched himself from the rampart, for once not leaving his fate to the talons of his own eagle, but to those of another.


	6. Fifth

Author's Note: Just a quick reply to one of the anonymous reviews—not quite relevant to the storyline, but since you asked, no, Ezio hasn't grown his beard yet. This is set before Ezio gets the Piece of Eden, thus also before the Battle of Forli.

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**Assassin's Creed:** Alis Aquilae

Fifth

His transition from air into water was neither gentle nor quiet, Altair feeling the surface of the ocean shatter around him as he plunged through it quite gracelessly. The almost deafening splash followed by the sudden, confining silence as he was driven under chilled the Master Assassin more than the frigid temperature of the sea itself. He shut his eyes and willed his body to stillness, fighting the overwhelming urge to flail and struggle for his life, knowing that it would do little more than waste his energy and worsen his situation.

Though he was sure Ezio had followed mere seconds behind him, the wait for the other Assassin to break through the water seemed an age, the Masyaf eagle feeling his chest constrict from cold and fear and lack of oxygen. Patience degrading fast, he finally forced his eyes open, peering through the gray-green murk of the seawater and, upon realizing that he could see nothing but an endless, alien landscape of muted color, felt his calm break.

His chest seemed aflame as he thrashed, only succeeding in stirring up bubbles that obscured his vision as his eagle screamed soundlessly in its attempts to reach the sky. In the midst of his panic, he felt a gloved hand suddenly latch onto his collar and saw the tails of Ezio's sash flutter across his vision, the blood red standing out starkly in the clouded green water. Altair faltered, his clouded mind just barely registering the presence, before the other Assassin hauled on the neck of his robes, and he felt his head break the surface as he was pulled to safety.

The Masyaf Assassin dragged in what felt like his first breath in a lifetime, half-choking on seawater as he did so and clutching desperately at the arm keeping him afloat. As he coughed, his entire frame trembling, he attempted to salvage what was left of his pride but heard the Florentine eagle chuckle quietly, either attempting to lighten the mood or simply amused at his fruitless struggles.

"I will seriously need to teach you how to swim, _nonno_."

Altair grated out a rather incoherent insult in response, still coughing against the salt as the other Assassin swam the few yards to dry land, his brother in tow. Their movement was admittedly slow, the Florentine eagle quite obviously hampered by both his injured arm and his fellow Assassin, but for once he made no comment on it. As they neared the shore, instead of making straight for a nearby dock, Ezio pulled them farther, ducking under the cover of a low set bridge.

As the Master Assassin transferred his grip from the other's sleeve to a brick jutting out underneath the stone structure, he finally managed to somewhat even his breathing; the gentling gasps reverberating oddly loud with the low headroom. At the sound of approaching armored footfalls, both immediately fell quiet, listening attentively to the shouted voices of the more persistent guards as they searched for their escaped quarry. Altair shut his eyes as they waited out the soldier's pursuit, trying not to focus on the cold of the water steadily seeping into his core.

His senses began to grow fogged from exhaustion, thus he was unsure how much time passed until the sound of the crowd overhead finally calmed, the innocents going about their business after weathering the enraged storm of soldiers. Only a prod and a whispered goad from Ezio stirred him, ready as he was to let sleep take him then and there. He blinked at him rather blearily before shaking his head to clear the mist, a little irritated at his own physical weakness. He followed the caped Assassin to a set of steps leading down into the water, moving hand over hand against the stonework wall towards it and wondering at the back of his mind if anyone would notice the two bedraggled eagles climbing from the frigid water.

The Florentine Assassin straightened casually on the neatly cut staircase, wiping a few droplets of seawater from his face but otherwise not seeming to notice the chill of the wind nor the heaviness of his soaked clothes. Altair stood as well, but very nearly lost his balance again as he did so, the wound on his leg rudely demanding attention. Though he managed to catch himself and mask the falter by gripping the low railing built into the wall of the canal, he realized with a little dread that he would not be running again any time soon.

Swallowing a pained gasp, he pushed aside the folds of his white robes to examine the laceration, finding the bandage that he had tied long gone, likely lost in the ocean during his untimely swim. The skin surrounding the half-closed gash had grown red and inflamed, irritated by the salt of the water and by what was likely a setting-in infection. He uttered a quiet oath and fell slowly to a sit, gingerly minding his injured limb. Though he said nothing to the other Assassin, he knew Ezio had doubtlessly noticed the wound, already having seen it back at the Bureau.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to keep up with me," the Florentine eagle said rather smugly as he looked over at him, but Altair could hear the fatigue in his voice, saw it in his stance as he lowered himself onto the step next to his brother.

"You won't be able to fly with that sprained shoulder either," the Masyaf Assassin reminded him flatly, not looking at the other as he worked at cleaning away the stray cloth sticking to his open wound.

"…Perhaps not," Ezio huffed, falling silent a moment as he watched his fellow Assassin's movements. "Do I need to take you to a doctor? That wound doesn't look good."

"I will be fine," Altair responded dully, reaching for the last of the bandages in his belt. "Besides, is your rafiq not trained in medicine? I can wait until we return to the Bureau." He pulled the bindings from his pack but frowned at the strips of cloth when he realized that they had also been thoroughly soaked by the swim, making them far from usable. He had never considered waterproofing his satchels, as wet bandages would usually be the least of his worries if he ended up in a river.

Noticing this, Ezio handed him some of his own supplies. "My 'rafiq?' Do you mean Leonardo?" he questioned, obviously not recognizing the term.

Altair nodded in thanks and dabbed at the wound before binding it quickly, aware of the attention they were drawing by simply sitting at the edge of the canal. "Yes, your rafiq," he said distractedly, firmly knotting the cloth and tugging his still damp robes over it to mask the already tainting spread of scarlet. "The keeper of your Bureau."

Realizing what he meant, the Florentine Assassin shook his head and climbed to his feet, looking a little amused. "Leonardo is just a painter—an artist, not an Assassin. He is simply one of my closest friends. Besides, didn't I tell you I was the only Assassin here? Why would I need a Bureau?"

"Just a friend? But he knows your identity," Altair said, finally looking up, admittedly surprised. "I would think only a member of the Order would have that knowledge. It is dangerous to reveal to just anyone that you are an Assassin." His eyes narrowed a little at the other as he pulled himself up by the stair's railing and carefully put weight on his left leg. "Unless you go around proclaiming your name after every kill?"

Ezio paused, seeming to remember something, before he allowed a laugh, an honest one, though with the strained note of a painful memory ringing behind it. "That was in the past, and only once. Besides, even if I hadn't, the Templars would have discovered my name on their own eventually."

"You are not denying it?" the Master Assassin asked in disbelief, doing his best to conceal his limp as he followed the other on their slow, tedious way back to Leonardo's workshop. "What reason could you have had to put the enemy on your own tail? You are more than a novice, you _fool_."

The Florentine Assassin looked over his shoulder at him, quite unruffled. "As if you were once any different. At least I revealed myself _after_ I killed my target and not before."

Altair stopped, a familiar ache of guilt building in his chest as he recalled what seemed like a different life, heard the cries of the brothers he had been separated from by a collapsed Temple wall, helpless to aid them, almost not wishing to. In a flash though, the pain turned to anger and, bristling, he spat out, "What are you implying?"

"I am implying nothing. I simply ask you don't dredge up things that should remained buried," Ezio said, his voice flat as he turned to walk ahead of the white-robed one, not meeting his eyes. The Masyaf Assassin hesitated, a little humbled, before he finally scowled and continued on in silence.

This irritation and tension between the two did not take long to abate however, both eagles well aware and comfortable with the fact that they would never be able to completely come to terms with each other, opposite as they were. Not to mention that the walk was long, and the chill air was quick to cool roiling tempers.

Altair eventually fell into a relaxed, measured pace, conserving his energy and growing accustomed to the weakness in his leg, quite the opposite of the Florentine Assassin beside him who seemed only to be regaining his spirit, rejuvenated by the morning air. The Master Assassin frowned inwardly and wondered how the other could take so well to this accursed cold. If anything, the unfriendly wind at least dried them both quite quickly.

Shaking his head, he decided to turn his attention instead to the city and its occupants milling around them, their daily routines having properly started sometime during his and Ezio's short excursion into the Arsenal. He recognized little difference in them from the faceless, largely anonymous citizens he usually dealt with back in the Holy Land, save for the lilting tones of their language, and the design of their clothes. He supposed though that they were just as easy to hide amongst, just as oblivious to shallowly hidden battles between Templars and Assassins, and just as easy to kill should the need arise.

"Such a serious face," Ezio commented lightly, suddenly, distracting the Master Assassin from his observations. Altair gave him a rather withering look in response to the quirked grin, but the other was nonplussed, continuing on with his own, significantly less important remarks. "You'll never catch the ladies' attention like that. Do you want me to teach you a few tricks?"

"I am not interested," the Masyaf Assassin said bluntly, knowing the other was suggesting it more to irritate him than out of any actual sincerity.

"_Non_? Why? Do your tastes lie elsewhere?"

Altair came to a halt and looked at him incredulously, dark eyes narrowed. "Give me one reason not to throw you back into the canal."

The other Assassin smirked, completely unthreatened by the look that would have sent lesser men cowering. "That wouldn't really be a problem. _I_ actually know how to swim, remember?"

"Perhaps, but that might be a bit difficult for you with my blade in your—"

Here, both men tensed abruptly, their eagles' gazes flicking towards the path ahead and giving twin, agitated hisses at the sudden sense of danger. Altair caught his brother's eye briefly before they turned casually away from each other and walked in different directions, with the Masyaf Assassin heading towards a half-full bench, and the other turning his back on the street and appearing to inspect the merchandise of a small shop.

However, they had not been quick enough to escape the eye of the passing patrol, its heavily armored captain signaling a halt to his men and heading in their direction, the plume on his helmet fluttering as he searched suspiciously about the crowd for the flash of white he had seen. They were much too conspicuous moving together, Altair realized, berating himself silently and sitting rather stiffly on the stone bench next to a nobleman and an elderly lady, ducking his head to avoid the soldier's eye.

He was unsure whether the Venetian guards were simply more persistent than the ones he was used to, or because it had been less than an hour since he and Ezio had fled the Templar port, but the guard captain was unusually thorough as he combed through the crowd, rather threateningly passing his long spear between his hands and staring into passing faces, causing several innocents to detour away from him or hurry on their way anxiously. The Master Assassin frowned as he watched the soldier from behind the shade of his hood, shifting the fingers on his left hand and itching to release his blade, but also knowing the danger in calling attention, as he would be unable to escape should he be seen.

Thus, he hid, wondering absently where Ezio had gone. However, while appearing to casually glance through the crowd, Altair realized that, now that they were far from the port district, the people had grown more uniform, their clothes almost identical now after the presence of foreign merchants and sailors had been depleted. With some dread, he knew that there would be no doubt he would be recognized, identified by the robes of his Brotherhood, should the soldier catch sight of him.

Swiftly, the Masyaf eagle stood, taking the opportunity to slip into an alleyway as the guard captain's attention was drawn to an unfortunate monk who had chosen quite an inopportune time to emerge from one of the buildings. Altair hesitated as the gentle shade of the dark alleyway accepted him, wondering how he could call Ezio's attention—he would likely just become lost without him, unable to return to the safe house, particularly since his injury restricted him from climbing and gathering his bearings.

Before he could decide his next course of action however, his eagle gave a sudden cry, startling him as a red aura abruptly permeated the alley. Altair stilled, knowing the man was behind him, but making no sign that he had noticed. How had he been seen? he wondered irritably, feigning ignorance and glancing up towards the roofs. Perhaps his wound had slowed him a lot more than he had thought.

He eased the weight off his left, ready to spring away on his good leg should the guard captain be foolish enough to attempt an attack. Sure enough, a disturbance of air by his feet signaled a sweeping strike, the enemy aiming to slash at his leg or at least trip him and drive him into the ground. The Master Assassin timed his own counter carefully, waiting for the last moment before lifting his right foot and driving the heel forcefully down into the passing haft, stopping the sweep halfway through its arc. He heard the guard's surprised grunt as he glanced over his shoulder and glowered irritably, an eagle disdainfully eying an impetuous crow.

"_Assassino_," the man stated carefully, as if confirming it, drawing back and speaking the word in a measured tone instead of the usual, half-hysteric scream of alarm Altair so often heard from enemy soldiers. A little curious, he took a few steps back as well, keeping the man in sight but staying his blade for the moment.

Upon realizing that he was not about to die just yet, the soldier shifted his weapon to his side, a ready, though not offensive stance. "The _signore_, he summons you to return," he spoke in clipped English, seeming largely unused to the foreign tongue. "Return to _L'Arsenale_."

"Are you talking about Rodrigo Borgia?" the Assassin asked, eyes narrowing. "I have already told him that I would discuss no terms."

"No. Not him, another," the guard captain said quite cryptically, either due to the language barrier or simply by an unwillingness to divulge too much information. "He said to tell you…" There was a pause as the man attempted to remember the words, seeming a little agitated as he watched Altair's patience visibly wane. Then finally, "La shaiq' waqee mutlak… bl kollin mumkin."

The white-robed one took a slight step back in confusion, hearing the words not only of his mother tongue, but also of his Creed. The phrase had been the last he had expected to hear from a foreign enemy of a distant time, and he felt his eagle bristling from hearing them spoken in such blasphemy.

"Enough," Altair snapped, covering his unsettlement with anger and flicking his wrist blade from its cradle. "Either leave now or fight. I've heard enough."

The guard captain regarded him steadily before turning on his heel and exiting the side street, the man's calm further perplexing the Assassin. The soldier acted nothing like a middle-rank servant of the Templars, one of many only serving them for coin. Instead, he seemed to hold the assured air of a true believer in their cause, quite a rare case. Altair sheathed his hidden blade and watched him leave, deciding not to attempt to comprehend the questions that had reared, or at least wait for them to reach the safety of Leonardo's home.

He waited a moment before following the man, keeping his back to the wall and his form in the shadows as he watched the captain gather his men and continue on routinely as if nothing had occurred. The Masyaf Assassin slipped out of the alleyway and back into the crowd, allowing his eagle's eyes to shift over his vision as he searched for Ezio.

It took only a moment to locate the gentle blue aura of his fellow Assassin, just visible in the passing stream of generic white. He had been about to blink and return his normal sight, however, he paused in slight puzzlement when he noticed a flicker. The Florentine Assassin's tell tale aura had shifted for the briefest moments to an aggressive red before returning, an uncertainty of color similar to what he had seen when he had first met him and Leonardo in the courtyard.

Altair watched him approach, trying to understand. Perhaps it was due to the man simply being a difficult character to read, thus confusing his eagle, or perhaps the annoyance and rivalry Ezio felt towards him was enough to affect his imprint on his senses. Though he tried to explain away the hostility, he could not help but wonder if his instincts held true, as they always had, and the other Assassin somehow meant him ill.

"Is something wrong? Come on, let's keep moving," Ezio prompted him, cheerful as ever, the passed threat not seeming to have bothered him in the slightest. The Masyaf Assassin tailed after him obediently, though said nothing to him until they had reached the now familiar workshop in the center of the city. Here, the caped Assassin paused briefly by the finely carved door into the shop, evidently listening if there were any other people inside aside from the artist, before knocking twice on the door and entering.

"Ezio, _messere_ Altair," Leonardo greeted them quite seriously, his usually bright eyes clouded with worry as he took in their injuries with a glance. "Did you have any luck?"

"I'm afraid not, _amico mio_," Ezio sighed as he sat on the couch by the door, rather tiredly pushing his hood back. "The Spaniard was waiting for us—he escaped while we fought off the ambush."

Altair sat on the other end of the embroidered sofa, gratefully taking the strain off his injury, and watching as the bearded one came over with a medical kit. Though the other Assassin had said this was not a Bureau, based on the practiced way Leonardo handled their injuries, it was evidently a common tradition for the Florentine eagle to come to him after missions.

"Do you want me to suture this for you?" the artist asked Altair as he carefully applied antibiotics across the laceration on his thigh, the stained bandages now laid neatly to one side. "It should help stop the bleeding."

"Please," the Master Assassin said a little distantly, giving a short nod. He was utterly exhausted, practically asleep on his feet, but he was still quite hesitant to drop his guard around these two. Not to mention their attempt to retrieve the Apple had only brought up more questions than answers.

"I'm sorry Leonardo, but could we stay the night?" Ezio spoke up with a half glance at Altair, rubbing absently at his newly bandaged shoulder.

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way," Leonardo assured him as he quickly finished stitching the Masyaf Assassin's injury, his deft movements closing it skillfully. Even in his distracted state, Altair had to admit he was impressed.

Guarded as he attempted to be, Altair could just barely remember being led to one of the back rooms, a guest room the artist evidently kept vacant for Ezio's use. The cot offered to him was narrow and simply adorned, quite unlike the many trappings of the workshop, but he took no notice. Only pausing to carefully set his bared short blade on the floor in easy reach, he lay down to rest, the stubborn eagle finally called to roost.

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Author's Note: As Altair mentions in the story, I really found it strange that Ezio announced his own name after killing Uberto—not exactly discrete.


	7. Sixth

Author's Note: I'm on break as of now, thus my updates should be coming much more quickly than usual. As always, thank you very much to all of you, any reviews are greatly appreciated.

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**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Sixth

Altair woke slowly, taking his time to emerge from one of the longest sleeps he had had in almost a year. He turned his head, eyes still shut, and listened for the echoing cries of circling eagles overhead, the rousing calls that he so often woke to. However, instead of the usual, comforting sounds of the busy fortress steadily beginning its day, all he could hear was silence and the faraway voices of a market crowd reverberating quietly through thick walls.

He jerked into wakefulness as soon as he took in this unsettling noise of unfamiliar surroundings, his spirit flaring like a raptor disturbed by a thunderstorm. However, even as his right hand groped instinctively for the dagger under his bed, the Assassin remembered, and managed to calm himself.

Slowly, he pulled in a breath, glancing around the muted shade of the windowless room and realizing that he was quite alone. Assured, he gathered up his short blade and stood, stretching rather cramped muscles and gratefully feeling the renewed energy in his system. He was hungry, true, but gone was the persistent fatigue born of constant battle and travel and flight, the pains that had plagued him for days since his final encounter with Robert de Sable, and on until his duel with his Master.

As he sat on the edge of the bed and ran through a routine check of his weapons, he heard light footsteps echoing down the hallway through the half open door, followed by a slight creak as the man leaned on the doorway. The Masyaf Assassin paid him no mind, but could already imagine the ever-present smirk as Ezio watched him, as if waiting for him to acknowledge his presence.

"Do you always sleep so long?" the caped Assassin chided, not seeming to notice Altair's pointed attempts to ignore him. "You've been out for a day and a night. Is that normal?"

"I was resting," he replied with surprising tolerance, not looking up but admittedly in a good mood after the restful sleep.

"That much was obvious," Ezio chuckled, inviting himself into the room and casually reclining against a bench amongst the painting supplies that filled most of its interior. "I was starting to think you were dead."

"Not yet, unfortunately for you," Altair returned dully, distractedly, concentrating more on his wrist blade than on the other Assassin as he ran two fingers across the central ridge of the drawn knife, checking its balance. "More importantly, what were you planning on doing to locate the Apple? This is your district, so I assume you have appropriate contacts to help find Rodrigo Borgia again."

"I was thinking of going to the Thieves Guild to see if they were able to monitor any caravans leaving _Venezia_ yesterday," the Florentine eagle answered, rather absently flipping through the half completed paintings stacked against the wall next to him. "But before that, you should have breakfast—Leonardo left something for us both. Also, it would be best if you changed into something less conspicuous. I can lend you some of my spare clothes."

Even Altair had to agree with him on this last point, remembering how easily he had been targeted the day before. He nodded mutely and followed the other into the main workshop, taking only a few moments to eat and dress, and only half listening to Ezio as he explained that the resident artist had left early to complete a commission somewhere in the upper district.

"We look a lot alike, don't we?" the Florentine Assassin said thoughtfully as he watched the other emerge from the back room in identical Assassin's white. Altair glanced at Ezio as he said this, still tugging at the wide hood framing his face a little irritably, unused to its cut. However, overall, even though he found the silver-filigreed red sash too flashy for his taste and the cape almost too hampering to even bother putting on, he conceded that the foreign uniform fit him almost perfectly.

"True," he responded with a short nod, casting a distracted eye over the other's face and only now noticing their distinct similarities. Fully cowled, they could easily have been mistaken for twins, if not for the eyes. "I am not quite sure I'm comfortable with that though. What if one of your acquaintances approaches me, thinking I am you?"

"Not possible," Ezio said cheerily, adjusting the rapier and dagger strapped to his side. "You don't have my charm."

"…Yes. Thank Allah for that," Altair sighed quite sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Ah, I almost forgot," the Florentine Assassin said suddenly, moving over to Leonardo's desk and picking up a long sheathed blade, wrapped carefully and deceptively in brown paper. "You don't have a long sword with you, do you? I keep a small armory here, so you can borrow this one if you'd like."

"Thank you," the Masyaf eagle said, a little surprised as he took the light bundle. He gently started to remove the packaging, but stopped midway and stared at the blade's hilt in confusion. Two flared wings acted as the cross guard, the wrought silver of the entire handle old, but well maintained, and not to mention very familiar.

"This..."

"I thought you'd recognize it," Ezio said with a small grin, tilting his head as he took in the other's startled expression. "That's the sword of the legendary Master Assassin. Based on your reaction, I suppose your story of time travel and magic just became a little bit more believable."

Altair drew the silvered metal and studied it, feeling the comforting balance. Though he had started using his gold-hilted sword after it had been presented to him by al Mualim upon promotion to Master Assassin, it had been a sword identical to this one—if not the same one—that he had trained with and fought by for most of his life before that. Though it could possibly be a replica or a coincidence, this feeling of recovering a missing extension of himself could not be denied nor ignored, his eagle spirit recognizing it like a lost mate. Simply, undeniably, he knew this was his.

"Thank you," he repeated quietly, sincerely now, as he sheathed the sword in the empty scabbard at his side.

"_Di nulla_," the other Assassin said casually, waving a hand. "Think nothing of it. Now, come on, we should begin the search for the Spaniard as soon as possible. I can't be expected to babysit you for the rest of your time here, so we might as well separate. We'll be able to cover more ground that way too."

"How much use can I be if I cannot understand your language?" Altair asked rather dubiously, finally tearing his gaze away from the blade. "I could simply walk by a potential source of information and not know it."

"Your Vision. You've been gifted with that as well I take it?"

"Yes," he responded slowly, knowing he was referring to his eagle's senses. "With that, I suppose I could track those associated with this Spaniard—but I will still not be able to know if they are of any use unless they lead me straight to him."

"Which is fully possible. He may not have left the city yet," Ezio reminded him, leading the way to the door of the workshop. "Also you won't be completely clueless, some of Borgia's foreign soldiers speak English as well as _italiano_."

Altair thought on this before finally nodding, deciding he would rather attempt to make himself useful than remain cooped up in the workshop. After a rather unnecessary jibe from Ezio to not get lost, the two Assassins separated, with the Florentine brother heading southwards and the Masyaf one turning a nearby corner into an alleyway to climb for the rooftops.

This was his first opportunity to be able to observe the landscape of the city in broad daylight, thus the eagle decided to take the time to commit it to memory. Perched on a cathedral tower, he surveyed the brickwork buildings arranged neatly below him, intersected by flowing streams of people and water in equal measure. The divisions of districts seemed easy enough to remember, divided and marked clearly by wider than usual canals, crossable only by bridges and narrow, oddly lopsided boats found sweeping through all but the thinnest waterways.

Carefully affixing the location of Leonardo's workshop in his mind, Altair leapt easily from the tower, catching the edge of an adjacent building and taking off across it at a gentle lope. He scanned the streets below with a casual glance, never pausing, aiming more to cover as much ground as possible than to fully focus on any individuals, an eagle circling a field for potential prey.

As he ran, concentration lost to the menial, routine task, his mind began to wander back, focusing on the events of yesterday, to the many words he had heard but not understood.

_Return to _L'Arsenale_ alone and I will be waiting for you._

_He summons you. Not him, but another._

The Masyaf Assassin stopped abruptly, looking carefully towards the solid brick of the boat port visible in the distance, blocking out much of the gray band of sea. There was no doubt it was a trap and to walk into one in the same location twice would be foolhardy, not to mention would merit a stain on his pride as an Assassin. However, Altair could not contain his curiosity, wondering how a foreign Templar had known exactly the words to speak to him.

He began to consider telling Ezio about his plan, to warn him of the possibility of his capture were he to fail, but at this too, he hesitated. His eagle ruffled impatiently at the idea of waiting simply to ask the other Assassin's permission before attempting his own investigation. Altair shook his head and, mind set, set off across the slanting lines of houses back towards the Arsenal.

As he drew closer to the stonework walls, the Masyaf eagle realized that he was unsure how to approach. He completely doubted the fact that the Spaniard would hold true to his word to be waiting for him there, but there was also the case of the "other" the Templar guard captain had referred to, another man who also wished him to return. One who knew of his Creed, or was at least educated in the words of the branch of his Brotherhood.

Both held this shipping port in common, and though it was not likely that either of the people he was searching for were here, there was a high chance he would be able to gather some clues from those going through the docks. Altair looked over the Templar base, crouched on the wide windowsill of a building in line with its walls and decided to simply observe for now, cautious.

He remembered Ezio's suggestion to use his eagle's senses and easily shifted his vision, sitting comfortably in the narrow shade cast by a decorative pillar as he swept his eagle's eyes over the passing crowd below. A friendly updraft of wind climbed the building he was perched on with a speed he could only envy, fluttering the red-striped doublet and hood against his shoulders and momentarily distracting him from his observations.

As he patiently pushed the cloth of the hood away from his face, he was thoroughly startled to suddenly recognize a splash of red aura, leaking up over the walls of the boat port like flames, materializing as if from nowhere. His eyes narrowed abruptly, suspiciously, wondering why he had not seen it before, until the spread of scarlet receded just as quickly as it had appeared. He stared, confused as the color pulsed again, scattering and gathering in measured intervals as regularly as a breath.

The Apple. Only the artifact could produce such a strange imprint on his eagle's senses, Altair realized, feeling his spirit recoil and shriek agitatedly at the alien presence. He stood slowly, clinging to the marble whorls of the pillar protruding from the wall beside him and weighing his options, eyes still fixed on the pulsating aura at the corner of the base, the color seeming to reach out towards him with each throb. It was calling him, he thought, unsettled. As if it knew he was there.

He leapt from the tower without thinking, only knowing that he needed to take from the Templars this treasure that pinpointed its enemies as easily as a predator its prey. His gaze did not leave the Piece of Eden's distinctive aura until it fell out of sight behind the stones, and a few moments later, he heard a distracting thrush as a cart of leaves broke his fall. The Assassin pushed free of the clinging foliage and out onto the streets, heading swiftly towards the gate of the Arsenal.

He glanced back at the wagon as he threaded through the crowd, realizing that it was close enough to the walls to provide him with an escape route—a risky one due to the distance, but the possibility was enough to assure him. If all went well, he would not need it.

Altair passed through the entrance without a second thought, ignoring the fact that its solid gate had so easily locked them in the day before. He was careful this time, not hurrying even as he drew within a few feet of the area he had seen the Apple's aura and constantly keeping his eagle's senses alert, ready to act at the slightest warning. However, he was not prepared to hear a sudden answer to his spirit's wary keening as it surveyed the area, he for the second time sensing the presence of another raptor where he expected none.

"It has been a long time, Altair."

The Assassin had released his hidden blade before the statement was finished, he whirling towards the source of the threat with a snarl upon his lips. However, he stumbled quite uncharacteristically to a halt as the black-cloaked figure came into view, unmoving despite his attack. A gasp hitched, half-formed in his throat as he retreated back several steps, his eagle screeching and flapping disoriented wings.

"M…Master."


	8. Seventh

**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Seventh

Altair knew that it was critical for him to look around the sheltered area and check for other potential enemies and escape routes, but seeing al Mualim's phantom—for this was doubtlessly what it was—had frozen him, the Assassin unable to tear his gaze from the impassive expression. The face was unchanged from that of the man he remembered, his teacher whom he had often seen immersed in the knowledge of the fortress library, his level expression half-shaded behind his dark hood and his one good eye alight despite his age.

But through his mind's eyes, the gentle face abruptly seemed to harden, a cruel expression crossing the old man's features as hate and anger twisted it, threatened by Altair's attempts to take his life and his precious treasure. The eagle shook his head forcefully and raised his wrist blade again, lowering into a defensive stance as he looked upon the one whom he had once respected and obeyed first above any other. _He had _killed_ him_, he reminded himself vehemently, trying to calm his confused spirit. _This was not real._

"Child, listen to me," al Mualim spoke up evenly, soothingly, looking upon the young Assassin who continued to shift, fighting to hide his unease. "I can hear the questions you are bursting to ask, but hold them for the moment. Allow me to explain."

"No," Altair snarled out suddenly, a bit haltingly, forcing words out past the catch in his throat and rather blatantly forgetting the presence of others nearby. "I will not be taken in by your tricks, not again." The old man's voice was so familiar, once again ringing with the calm tone that he had grown to trust through his years of service. He had not heard his master speak this way since he had been corrupted by the Apple's power. It was maddening.

"Already you are mistaken. They were not _my_ tricks, Altair, but the Piece of Eden's."

"…What? I… I don't…" His voice came out weak, the words feeble, thoroughly infuriating him as he attempted to piece together his failing resolve.

"_Listen_," the elder repeated firmly, seeming to hold his ground if only to avoid further agitating his once-student. "The one you have been speaking to for the past year, the one who sent you after the nine, was not me, but the artifact through me. Think back, you must have noticed the change."

Altair said nothing, his stance locked, but his determination and the fire of his anger guttering. He so desperately wished for the words to be truth, so yearned to be able to blame the shattering of his Brotherhood on the Templar treasure, that he found himself listening.

"Ah, you do not deny?" al Mualim asked, the ghost of a smile slipping across his countenance. "So you were not blind to it as the others were. I am relieved. You were always my best student."

The words stung. The Assassin felt an unexpected pain in his chest, tensing again from hearing the same remark spoken by the Grand Master he had faced in the fortress garden, the final words he had uttered before turning his blade upon Altair. The ache in his heart and his leg where the false al Mualim had torn him reminded him, and he drew back mistrustfully. "If that is so, how am I seeing you now? Even if the one I killed was the Apple in your stead, your body was destroyed. Your spirit should have still… passed on."

"I would have passed on long ago if I were still able," his master said sadly, pacing a few steps to look out into the harbor, arms folded behind his back in a mannerism that had apparently not been lost. "I can no longer leave here. I have paid a heavy price for my carelessness. The Piece of Eden is much stronger than any man, and its powers extend far beyond simple manipulation of the mind. Those who open themselves to it for even the briefest moments are completely consumed, lost to the world and trapped in an illusion wrought of their own memories and the twisted dreams of the artifact."

"Then… all this is an illusion? All the images and prophecies the treasure showed me, a lie?"

"This Apple, this Forbidden Fruit, can no more tell the future than you or I could," the elder stated firmly, casting a somber gaze in his student's direction. "This _Venezia_, as I'm sure the locals have told you it is called, does not and will never exist. It is a figment, nothing more."

Altair grappled with the idea, dark eyes clouded with turmoil as he tried to understand. "What of the brothers I have met here then? Are they also simply hallucinations?"

"Yes," he responded assuredly, meeting Altair's eyes at the mention. "However, it is in them where a particular key instance lies."

"A key?"

"It is through these false Assassins that the Piece of Eden manipulates you, toying with your actions and deeper entangling you in this illusive world. It is they who keep you, thus, it is also through them that you might be freed."

The eagle pricked its ears at this, eager, almost desperate for an opportunity to leave this place of confusion and unfamiliarity, of displacement and echoes of loss. He straightened slowly out of his attack stance and retracted his blade, guard decisively dropped. In his mind, he was in al Mualim's study again, standing at attention and awaiting his orders. "…What must I do?"

"Only perform what I have spent my life teaching you, child. You must kill them. Any who have spoken to you of the Brotherhood—they must die."

Altair nodded slowly, unquestioning. "I understand. This must be done in order to dispel the mirage. But… what of you, master? Will you also-?"

"It is the Piece that holds me now, so long have I been captive to its manipulation," al Mualim said gently, solemnly. "I am bound here until the artifact itself is gone."

"Then I will free myself and destroy it," the student vowed quietly, steadfast now that he had an objective to strive for. "I promise, I will end this, master."

He took a step back the way he had come, left hand touching his chest as he bowed in the Assassin's salute. Then he turned back towards the street, slipping out from between the warehouses and rejoining the crowd that had seemed completely oblivious to their exchange.

The raptor had already gone, resolutely taking flight at its falconer's command, thus he did not see the black-cloaked figure behind him suddenly break into fragments of gold light, did not see the man he had trusted vanish and be replaced by another, one also shaded by a dark-cloak, clutching an orb of silver in his right hand. The man watched the eagle fly and smiled.

Altair wove past the throng of people moving through the Arsenal, pulling in a held breath as soon as he had cleared its walls. Once again free, he ran for the nearest building, climbing swiftly hand over hand on its windowsills and pulling himself up with the tail of his sash fluttering behind him. He would look for the artist first, he decided calmly, detached, his eagle in control. Auditore could be dealt with afterwards.

He searched for the division of the city with the finest houses, its people bedecked in colorful silks and feathers—the upper district within which Ezio had claimed Leonardo was working a commission. He took each rooftop at a run, his raptor in a spiraling dive as it searched determinedly, heatedly, for its target, knowing it was near and practically already tasting its blood.

Finally, a glint of gold caught his attention and his eyes narrowed, honing in on the glimpse of his prey he had seen through the entrance of a balcony across the street, half hidden by potted plants and porcelain vases. He slowed to a halt and lazily measured the distance, lowering into a swift crouch and taking the span at a lunge. He latched onto one of the marble pillars and jerked himself up and over, clearing the railing with little more than a flutter of cloth to mark his passing.

He straightened casually and walked into the room, catching the sudden, rather heady smell of paint and dye and linseed oil. A quick, sweeping glance told him the house was quite empty, devoid of occupants aside from his target—too easy. The aforementioned artist had his back to him but turned as he padded closer, the Assassin not bothering to hide his presence nor the rustle of his steps across the protective cloth covering the carpet.

"Ah, Ezio, back so soon?" Leonardo asked cheerfully, glancing back briefly with a bright smile gracing his face, but lowering neither his arm nor his brush from the mural he was painting across one wall.

Altair said nothing, inconspicuously ducking his head to mask most of his features and forcing a return smile, mimicking the Florentine Assassin's usual disposition. As Leonardo returned to his work, the eagle's mouth flattened again to a grim line and he drew up behind the older man, feigning interest in his painting, but in truth only focusing on the back of his target's neck as he released his hidden blade.

However, the brief whirring click of the mechanism as it locked into place alerted the other man, he likely being familiar with the sound after knowing Ezio for so long. Leonardo looked back again in understandable alarm, dropping his brush as Altair rushed forward and coldly seized him about the throat, holding him still and drawing back his left talon for a strike.

"_Messere_ Altair-?" the artist choked out, blue eyes wide with fear and confusion as he stared full into the face of his attacker, finally recognizing him past the clothes. "Wh-what are you doing?"

The Masyaf Assassin met his gaze and, for one of the few times in his life, hesitated to bring down his blade, thoroughly unsettled by the imploring look in Leonardo's eyes, still so open and trusting, pleading with him to explain what was going on.

Growling at his own weakness, Altair shook free of his hampering guilt, his right fist clenching rather agitatedly and cutting off the man's words and breath. Paint-streaked hands desperately fastened around his wrist, his prey struggling for his life as the Assassin leveled his hidden blade to the side of his head.

"E-ezio!"

_Odd last words_, Altair thought coldly, gathering to bury his knife into his target's flesh. The pain was sudden, intense and flashing as it ripped through his left shoulder, the abrupt agony followed closely by an earsplitting bang. He staggered sideways with a cry, right hand releasing Leonardo and clamping instead around the soaking flow of blood that poured in rivulets from the bullet wound.

His eagle gave an echoing shriek of rage at the affront, a scream that was only answered in kind by another raptor spirit. Altair turned in time to see the Florentine Assassin push his way into the room from the balcony, lip pulled back in a snarl of pure hatred. "I swear I will _kill_ you, you _figlio di puttana_!"

The Masyaf Assassin simply reacted, one hand flying to the throwing knives at his belt and sending three into the air in quick succession. He dove away from the answering barrage of near-identical daggers, catching himself in a roll and ignoring the red life he spilled onto the floor, thick as the paint already staining it. Ezio dodged the airborne projectiles sent in his direction and pressed after him, a glinting, angular knife in hand.

"We never should have trusted you, traitor!" the Florentine eagle spat out in between enraged, almost wild strikes with the short blade, all of which Altair deflected with his own curved dagger.

"I could say the same about you," the Master Assassin ground out coldly, no longer feeling the pain in his arm but realizing that he needed to compensate for it, as the limb did not seem to be responding to his attempts to move it. He was steadily growing completely detached, unafraid of pain or guilt now that he had firmly affixed in his thoughts that none of this was real, that the man he had just yesterday called brother was only one of the Apple's many apparitions.

Altair leapt backwards abruptly, throwing the other off balance as he dodged a particularly wide, sweeping slash. As Ezio struggled to right himself, he lunged forward into him, lashing out with his blade and gouging a long wound across the Florentine Assassin's chest, deeply laying open flesh from shoulder to shoulder and just missing the base of his throat.

Ezio barely had time to give a pained gasp, hand flying to the laceration just as the Master Assassin pivoted swiftly in a kick, his boot connecting solidly with the side of his enemy's head. The other eagle hit the ground with a thud, tumbling a few feet and knocking over a stack of painting implements as he did. He rolled to a halt against the far wall, coughing on blood but attempting to rise, to reach for his dagger that had flown from his hand and clattered against the floor in the opposite direction.

The Masyaf eagle swooped, already tasting the kill, when another figure slammed into his left flank, jostling his injured arm and throwing him against one of the finely decorated walls. He had forgotten about Leonardo.

He gave an almost animalistic snarl against the ache as he scrambled to his feet again, shifting his curved blade into a more offensive position and darting a dark gaze between his two targets. The artist was helping the bleeding, disoriented Assassin to his feet, blue eyes slitted dangerously in an expression Altair had not yet seen on him.

"We _helped_ you, Altair," Leonardo snapped, his angered tone betraying hurt as he held his friend's arm to steady him. "How could you just turn on us like this?"

"Don't bother, Leonardo," Ezio cut in flatly, staggering into a ready stance with evident difficulty and wiping blood from a split lip off his chin. "There's no conversing with filth like him."

At first, the Master Assassin was silent, simply watching them, an eagle tensed for a dive, but still waiting on its prey. In the stretched pause, the artist murmured quiet words in Italian to the Florentine Assassin and Altair saw them both glance towards the wound in his shoulder, perhaps assuring themselves he would not be able to attack both of them so easily. The Masyaf eagle scoffed inwardly and itched to show them how wrong they were.

"Just… just tell us _why_," Leonardo spoke up at last, standing between the Assassin and his injured friend as if he thought doing so would make any difference should Altair decide to attack.

The Masyaf Assassin held his ground as he looked at them, feeling a sudden crack in his resolve, but struggling to ignore it. Even he was unsure of the answer to this question. "All this is nothing more than a delusion," he bit out, speaking the words aloud more to reinforce his determination than to actually explain it to the other two. "I will not allow myself to be manipulated by that accursed Piece of Eden, not as al Mualim said he was."

"Your master? Are you saying you spoke with him?"

He hesitated to answer, but decided to proclaim it, proudly and fearlessly. These two would both die in the end, thus it would make little difference. "Yes. He has told me more truth than either of you have."

Ezio barked out a laugh despite his injury, lips twisting with a mocking smile. "What, you think you have spoken to your master?" he jeered, though not moving from his position. "The supposed master who lived centuries ago, the one you killed with your own hands? _Sei pazzo_. And you claim to be avoiding being manipulated by the Apple."

Altair's eyes narrowed, disliking the probing statements, though he could not deny the truth in them. "Enough talk," he growled loudly to hide his unease, taking a step forward and tightening his grip on his curved dagger. However, as he did so, he staggered and his vision veered abruptly, he feeling a sudden flush of cold sap through his body. He was losing too much blood, he realized almost frantically, drawing back quickly and only now realizing the weight of the spilled scarlet soaking through his sleeve. They had been stalling, waiting for him to weaken. He had neglected his limitations and was paying for it—such a foolish mistake!

As suddenly as he had come, the Masyaf eagle fled, making for the balcony and leaping from there onto the building's roof with a measure of difficulty. He could not risk dying before he finished the job, or his master's spirit would also remain trapped, he reminded himself, attempting to sate his protesting eagle spirit by assuring it that it was more important to fly and live than to fight fruitlessly and die.

Altair knew that he had wounded the Florentine Assassin enough to assure he wouldn't follow, but he himself was in no better shape. Though he ran far across the tiled roofs, trailing droplets of blood like discarded feathers, he acknowledged that he could barely concentrate, knew that his consciousness was wavering. He had no idea where he was going, and he only vaguely noticed it when he fell.

Collapsed against the platform of an archer lookout and just about to give in to darkness, he blearily saw a small group of men crouched on the rooftops just ahead of him, their clothes scruffy and worn, staring at him in shock. Thieves, he realized, surrendering dully. Curse his luck to fall before a pack of scavengers.

"Ezio-?"

It was the second time he had been referred to as such, mistaken for the resident Assassin. Though this would have annoyed him had he the energy to care, it was this misconception that saved him. How ironic for it to be his nemesis, the eagle whom he now only wished to destroy, who protected him from harm.


	9. Eigth

**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Eighth

Altair just managed to evade unconsciousness this time, clinging stubbornly to awareness as he felt many hands supporting him, carrying him from the rooftops and a good distance along the streets. Ezio apparently had strong connections if such thieves were willing to work so hard to aid him, he thought absently, allowing himself to be pulled along and doing his best to conserve his energy.

He managed to stumble behind in their wake, carrying less than half his own weight and dully tuning out their concerned questions and comments, granted he would not be able to understand the foreign words even had he been able to fully concentrate. He made not a sound as they traveled, an eagle dragging its injured wing, until he felt one of the thieves knotting a cloth about the wound at the back of his shoulder joint, bandaging it efficiently but none too gently. He growled out defensively, jerking away from the pain and casting a dangerous glare at the thief next to him.

However, instead of the other recoiling fearfully, the Assassin was taken aback as he was deftly knocked upside the head, the thief speaking out scolding tones that gave him the impression he was being told to shut up and not be a child about it. He blinked from behind the shade of his hood, quite obediently falling into a startled silence. Not only was the other noticeably shorter than him, he realized belatedly and rather irritably, that though the bandanna obscured some of her features, this brash one was, in fact, a woman.

His annoyance would have to wait however, as he felt a dizzying lurch when they reached a short flight of steps, the men around him slowing upon reaching their destination. The building before them was square and quite large, dominated by a wide courtyard of finery he would have never have expected to find in a Thieves Guild.

Altair lowered his head again as the heat of the sun was blocked by stone pillars and finely tiled roofs, closing his eyes in an attempt to control the sudden lightheadedness. He felt them lower him into a comfortable sitting position on a bench, his back against a cool brick wall. He listened to their rushed movements, lying still and hearing loud calls of '_chiamate un dottore_!' and other such orders from the lady thief that the others were quick to obey, the words mixed heavily with choice curses and insults that Ezio also favored.

The Assassin remained motionless throughout this, keeping his head bowed as he felt deft hands cleaning and mending the wound, judging based on the pain that it had not been as serious as he had initially thought. The Florentine Assassin had done little more than nick the edge of his arm, the bullet tearing through a large amount of flesh but avoiding bone, likely out of Ezio's concern that he would hit Leonardo. He was grateful for this, but the memory of the shot ached almost more than the wound it had caused, he unable to shake the nagging guilt of turning his blade on a brother. Mentally, he shook himself and rebuked the weakness.

The atmosphere around him visibly gentled over time, most of the concerned thieves filtering away as his condition stabilized and leaving only the female one to finish his bandages. Altair felt admittedly weak but he knew it would not take him long to recover. He opened his eyes briefly and glanced at the young woman sitting next to him, seeing the harsh determination creasing her brow as she worked, but easily sensing her concern just behind it. He felt a little guilty for deceiving her and wondered what her relationship was with Auditore.

The lady spoke up, tugging at the once-white sleeve of his shirt and perhaps making a comment on how soaked it had grown with blood. He thought nothing of it until she reached suddenly for the clasps of his hidden blade, making to remove it from his arm.

At this, Altair flared abruptly, instinctively, reaching out with his right to grab her wrist and snarling, "Don't touch that."

The thief froze, surprised at his voice or perhaps at the unexpected English, and finally met his dark eyes, her own wide. "You… are not Ezio," she said warily, pulling her hand slowly from his grip. Then, much like a startled bird, she sprang away, eyes narrowing and a hand reaching for a dagger at her belt.

The Assassin made no move to defend himself, calmly turning away from her accusing frown. "No, I am not," he confirmed, hand absently brushing the neat bandage around his arm as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. "I thank you for the treatment, however. I only ask you allow me to leave quietly."

"Not a chance, _bastardo_," she ground out, glancing behind her and perhaps considering calling for her fellows. Thinking against it though, she instead flicked a rather cross gaze back at him. "At least not before you tell me why you're dressed like him and have the same weapons as he does. Are you some kind of imposter? A spy?"

Altair wavered slightly on his feet, eager to leave the enclosing plaza and find somewhere safe to rest, but also unwilling to incur the wrath of this girl—negligible as it might be, he did not want to waste any more energy than he needed to. "I am not an imposter," he said instead, patiently, though not entirely truthfully. "I am simply another Assassin, just as he is."

She tilted her head at him, unsure whether to believe his words. "You know Ezio then?" she questioned in a clipped tone, not really leaving room for a response. "He was just here this morning—I would think he'd mention another man who looks almost exactly like him running around _Venezia_. Of course, that is considering he _actually_ knows you."

"He did not mention me?" Altair asked slowly, confused. Illusion or not, by the Florentine Assassin's usual careless personality, he would have expected him to talk at length about finally encountering a fellow Assassin. Unless he had misread his character… but that was impossible. By his eagle's senses, he could always more or less grasp and judge how a person would react.

But even as he thought this, he remembered the flicker of the Florentine Assassin's aura, the ambiguity of color he had never seen on any other before. He reasoned at first that it was due to the Apple's mirage, but second-guessed himself, doubting if even the artifact could cause such a strange impression on his Vision.

There were too many questions, too many uncertainties. Had he been wrong to judge the other Assassin so quickly? He took an unsteady step away from the lady thief, shaking his head. "…Please, excuse me."

"_Ehi!_ You can't just-!"

Altair brushed past her without another word, running for the tall entrance of the building and dodging a small group of men who looked at him quizzically as he appeared to recover so quickly from his injury. Crossing over a short bridge over the canal, he gave a quiet, irritated grunt as he felt the protesting weakness in his legs, the throb in his still raw shoulder, but he pushed on nevertheless, threading through the thinning crowd as evening began to call them off the streets. He heard hurried steps in pursuit behind him and thus slipped behind a merchant stand, turning two swift corners before coming to an abrupt halt in the shade of an archway beside a red brick church, his back to the wall.

The girl's footsteps stopped briefly, as if she were looking around for any signs of him, before they faded, disappearing in quite the wrong direction. The Assassin let out a short sigh of relief, sinking to a sit in the narrow alleyway and shutting his eyes. He gripped the torn and streaked cloth of his left sleeve distractedly, evening his breath and trying to organize his thoughts.

Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. He had thought the meeting with his master had solved everything, laying for him a clear path to escape this nightmare and return to the fortress, to his brothers. But the words Ezio had spoken to him a few hours ago, the ones the lady thief had only seemed to confirm, had thrown doubt into his resolve and reminded him of the persistent guilt that refused to abate. He had always managed to kill without feeling, or at least rested assured of its greater purpose, but his attempts to end the two local brothers only gave him a flutter of protest, of misgiving.

What would he do if he killed Leonardo and Ezio, the only ones who had offered him sanctuary since he had arrived here, and nothing changed? He wondered agitatedly, staring at the thickly shaded wall across from him. What if the supposed illusion remained?

_We place faith in ourselves. The world is an illusion, one which we can either submit to, as most do, or transcend._

The exchange he had shared with his master just before he sought de Sable rose to the forefront of his mind, unbidden but not unwanted. How odd it was to remember his words and yet have them sound so unfamiliar, so distant. Altair lifted his eyes upwards, examining the red of the sunset just visible in the narrow opening overhead and realizing rather somberly that he did not even recognize the sky, the subtle shades of scarlet not matching those he was used to seeing painted over the desert or the mountains.

_Our Creed does not command us to be free. It commands us to be wise._

…He could not rely on al Mualim. The decision to dispel the illusion, the action he took to rise above it, was his to make. His eagle told him not to trust Auditore, thus he would not. But neither did it tell him to kill him, he realizing that the desire to seek the Florentine Assassin's blood had only stemmed from the orders of his master, and not out of instinct or will. The 'old man' had spoken truth in saying that the supposed false Assassins in this city were not to be believed—in this, al Mualim had spoken of himself.

He was not sure whom he could trust in this deceptive world, this mirage that spoke to him in both truths and lies. It was because of this uncertainty that he would not dare believe in anyone aside from himself, aside from his eagle spirit. Those he decided to rely on would not be dictated to him. If he thought that Ezio and Leonardo were the ones who could help him, so be it. If they in turn believed they could not trust him, which would be far from a surprise, only then would he discover if he was wrong.

Altair rose to his feet, tugging the brown cape dangling behind him across his shoulder and over his sleeve to conceal the old blood, for once not finding it an unnecessary hindrance. He would return to the workshop, he decided, setting off towards the center of the city, towards the bleeding red of the sunset. They would doubtlessly be expecting him to return there if only to retrieve his clothes and the spare equipment he had left behind.

His arm pained him, distracting him as he hurried through the final trickles of innocents on their way home, his body unused to the nagging ache and extensive damage caused by a bullet. Repressing it, the Assassin flicked his left arm experimentally and found he could still activate his wrist blade's release mechanism, though with some difficulty. Even so, he was unsure if he would be able to wield it, doubting the fact he could put enough force behind a strike with his arm still refusing to respond efficiently. He would pose little threat to Ezio this way, particularly if he were prepared for him, he thought dully, unsure if this was a point for or against him.

The neatly paved courtyard in which he had first regained consciousness finally came into view, his eagle resigning itself to the fact he could be killed upon sight. Altair approached the doorway and, much like Ezio had done the previous day, paused long enough to listen for movement within. He could hear nothing, quite as expected, but his spirit could just barely sense the trace of a carefully masked aura. The Florentine Assassin was hiding, waiting for him. He took a breath and entered.

The workshop was well lit by the last streams of sunlight through its high windows, but he could see not a soul. He paced a few steps towards the center of the room, hearing a creak of wood overhead but not looking up. The other eagle was apparently above him, in the rafters.

"I did not return to fight," he spoke out evenly, his voice echoing in the wide, seemingly vacant room.

"No?" Ezio inquired coldly, his own voice reverberating as well and making pinpointing his exact position difficult. "Ah, I see, you came to _talk_. Just like you came to talk to Leonardo earlier."

"I was… misled," the Master Assassin said carefully, spreading his arms slightly to show the other he had drawn no weapon. "The Apple led me to believe killing you two was necessary to free myself, but instinct tells me otherwise. I… apologize."

"That's it? You're sorry? Yes, I'm sure that makes it all _much_ better," the other Assassin laughed humorlessly, his voice coming from a different direction now. He was circling, Altair realized. Searching for the best angle of attack.

"I do not wish you ill," he said instead, resisting his eagle's urge to fly and rally a defense, to strike before he himself was struck. "Use your Vision, Ezio, even I cannot lie to that."

A pregnant silence followed this statement, and Altair could almost feel the Florentine eagle's eyes boring into him. He heard a short intake of breath as the other began to speak but faltered, unsure of how to proceed. Suddenly curious, he wondered if his own aura was just as unreadable to Ezio as the other's was to him.

"How… how are you doing that?" the Florentine Assassin demanded tightly, his tone unsteady and more than clarifying Altair's suspicions. "I have _always_ been able to read my opponents, differentiate friend from foe, but you…"

"You cannot tell, can you? To my senses, you are the same; only your most brash of intentions are visible to me."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?" Ezio snapped, also seeming to compensate with anger. "We are the same, so I should not kill you? I should forget that twice now you have almost murdered the closest person I have to a brother?"

"I am not asking you to forget. I am only saying that you should use your energy for more pressing matters," he said as calmly as he was able, sensing, practically feeling the other tensed to strike.

"I couldn't agree more, _stronzo_."

Altair said nothing in response, forcing himself to stillness despite his eagle and all his senses screaming at him to fight, to fly and evade the flash of red and white descending upon him from behind.

A second later though, he could not have dodged had he wanted to, only managing to breathe out a low curse as a hand fell heavily upon the wound in his shoulder, gripping it mercilessly to keep him from moving or using his hidden blade. Despite this, Altair did not shift, even as he heard the other Assassin land lightly behind him and felt the bite of the rapier, the edge pressing under his chin but stopping against his throat.

There was a pause as Ezio gave a quiet, derisive snort at his back. "What, you really will not defend yourself? Have you given up?"

"I _told_ you, I did not come to fight," the Master Assassin insisted stiffly, hands fisted at his sides as he fought to keep the lace of pain from his tone. "My attack on both you and Leonardo was unjustified, but there are other things that require your attention. You know this. Otherwise, if you are truly so set on killing me, why do you hesitate? Why did you not simply shoot me again when I came in here?"

Silence was his only response, Altair feeling the blade at his neck waver slightly, much like its wielder, inadvertently drawing a thread of blood. "I am not your brother," he pressed calmly, glancing over his shoulder at him. "But neither am I your enemy."

Abruptly, he felt a jerk on his sleeve, Ezio forcefully throwing the other from him by the bandage on his arm. The Masyaf eagle staggered, stumbling a few steps, but managed to steady his stance before he collided with anything. He turned slowly to look at the other, rather startled that there had been no follow up attack.

"I cannot kill you," the Florentine Assassin bit out almost angrily, frustration written in his very stance. "Call it weakness or cowardice if you must, but I simply _cannot_. I don't understand it."

Altair straightened, glancing briefly at the bandage across Ezio's chest visible behind his half-open doublet, and saw that the wound, like his, had also stopped bleeding even if it had been dealt barely an hour before. The wound he himself had delivered was not serious, he realized with quiet surprise, noticing that had he raised his aim by a few inches, he could have killed the other Assassin on the spot. Yet he had not, despite being determined to end him at the time. Somehow, involuntarily, he had held back.

"It is not our fate to die by each other's blades," the Master Assassin spoke simply, watching as the other eagle blatantly turned his back on him, sheathing his long sword and pacing the room with a measure of unease. "We need not be allies, but we must acknowledge that we at least share a common enemy. I have no desire to possess the Apple, but I must face it. That is the true key to my freedom. Will you aid me?"

Ezio glanced at him, the answer hidden behind an agitated brown glare. Then finally, "…Yes."

* * *

Author's Note: I apologize if the middle portion of this chapter was overly reflective or dramatic, but I felt like emphasizing how lonely and unsettling it must be to be apparently lost in a different country and a different time. Anyway, I feel the end is approaching, there should only be a few chapters left before this is finished.


	10. Ninth

**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Ninth

Though they had settled on an agreement the two eagles spent a fleeting but tense moment warily watching each other, still somewhat mistrusting. Then finally, Ezio sighed and said exasperatedly, "What are you waiting for? Let's get this over with."

"I will change first," Altair said evenly, turning and moving towards the back room where he had left his usual robes. "You trusted me with your uniform and I took advantage of it. I'm sorry."

"We've already agreed that your apologizing won't come to anything, Altair," the Florentine Assassin said with surprising calm, more resigned than angry now, he seeming to have finally gentled his eagle spirit. "Besides, it will do no one any good for me to foster another grudge."

The Master Assassin paused by the doorway, not meeting his eyes, but offering a short, grateful nod before disappearing into the room. As he pulled on his familiar white, leaving the other's bloodstained uniform across one of the crates in the supply room amongst the organized clutter, he hesitated at first on bringing the long sword Ezio had given him. Though technically it was his, it reminded him of his own supposed betrayal, weighing him with guilt. But after a pause, he let out an impatient breath, snatching the saber up and knotting the scabbard decisively onto his leather girdle. This was no time to dwell on past ills.

"Do you know where to start?" the other Assassin questioned, eying the Masyaf eagle as he emerged from the store room, still adjusting the fastening of his hidden blade.

"The Arsenal," Altair said without hesitation, tightening the last leather loop with a measure of finality. "I sensed the artifact's presence there yesterday, and no doubt Rodrigo Borgia was nearby. It's not likely that either of them have moved, given they are under the impression I have gone to kill you."

"Yes, I suppose. But let's not talk about that, shall we?" Ezio commented rather stiffly, heading for the door. "We have enough to worry about."

"As you wish," the Master Assassin responded slowly and followed him. This was not an arrangement he would have chosen, reminded of the first time he had faced Malik in Jerusalem's bureau after the disastrous events of Solomon's Temple. Their injuries were well on the way to healing, but the rift between them would not be as quick to fill. Altair shook his head but accepted it.

The twin eagles took off at a run moments after clearing the doorway, easily dodging the last stragglers of the evening crowd even as darkness hemmed in all around them. Ezio flicked around a corner to follow the streets, and Altair wondered briefly if he was avoiding the rooftops to allow him to keep up, or was simply unable to climb himself. It was strange to be distracted by such a thought, but he was a little heartened to think that it was likely the former.

"The night time patrols are not as vigilant as the day ones, but they're a lot more numerous," the Florentine Assassin informed him quietly, not meeting his eyes, but seeming to come to terms with the need to assist him. "Our best and quickest path would be through the canals. Do you object?"

Altair frowned, wondering irritably if this was the other's indirect way of leaving him behind. "No, I agree," he ground out, trying to keep the annoyance from his tone. "But unless you've forgotten, I cannot-"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Ezio assured him, and the Master Assassin briefly glimpsed a flashed smirk, the lightheartedness a little strained, but genuine. "But I wasn't suggesting that we swim. Come, follow me."

The other only looked on in some confusion as the Florentine eagle ducked through a tall archway, heading towards a dock cutting through one of the canals. He glanced about casually before leaping lightly into one of the long boats moored to the pilings, cutting through the rope with a clipped sweep of one wrist blade. As he took up the narrow oar at the stern of the craft, Ezio looked back and met his fellow Assassin's gaze a little impatiently. "Well?"

He gave the slender boat a rather dubious look, wondering at its stability, before he climbed in reluctantly. It swayed steadily as the Florentine Assassin pushed it out into the center of the waterway with surprising efficiency, and Altair settled comfortably on the bench by his feet, one hand against the throwing knives at his belt and senses alert for too-watchful eyes.

Both were silent throughout the trip, though more out of necessity than anything. The Master Assassin eventually relaxed his guard slightly, seeing the advantage of taking this route as Venetian guards spared them little more than a glance when they passed. They blended easily with the boatmen angling their own crafts home, just another tree in a forest.

As they neared the Templar base, the number of boats similar to the ones they were in lessened, the speed and choppiness of the water intensifying as they were dragged outwards to the sea by a riptide. Ezio's brow furrowed in concentration as he angled the narrow craft against the towering parapets of the Arsenal, following the edge towards the farthest wall that opened up into the ocean. Altair swept a glance to its peak, noting the tell-take pools of light that marked the patrolling archers, each carrying aloft torches that allowed them to see, just as well as it allowed them to be seen.

The Assassins were met with luck as they caught sight of a large ship, a fine galley with sails gently sloped with wind, also heading into the docking port. The curved wood belly provided them with more than enough cover as the Florentine eagle steadied their own light craft in its wake, maneuvering it under the shade of one of the already moored vessels as soon as they had cleared the walls.

Altair climbed easily onto the edge of the stone dock, using his eagle's senses to carefully check for any nearby guards, and waited as the other lashed the long boat to a wood pillar. Candle flames of red aura stood out the most along the walls, with a few more scattered across the narrow streets between the lines of warehouses and amongst the docked boats. He could neither see nor sense the blatant aura of the Apple, but a nagging instinct told him it was not far.

"Stealth is crucial here," he told Ezio softly as the Florentine Assassin joined him on solid ground. "Borgia can easily use any illusion to distract us if he sees us coming—however, I am not able to see exactly where he is."

"He's nearby, I'm sure of it," the other said in a hiss, eyes narrowed as he also swept the surroundings for his prey. "Probably inside one of these buildings."

"There are too many. It will be near impossible for us to go through each of them without being seen or caught," Altair countered, looking to Ezio for information on this target he had supposedly been tailing for years. "How will we be able to tell which one to search?"

"Simple," the caped Assassin said assuredly. "Borgia's a coward even when he thinks he holds the advantage. We just need to find the building surrounded by the most guards."

"Oh, is that all?" Altair asked with a tinge of sarcasm as he followed the other towards the edge of the wall, safely out of sight of the patrols on its crest. The other Assassin ignored him.

With nightfall, the Masyaf eagle saw that many of the laborers still present in the Arsenal had turned to drink and light conversation, posing hampering obstacles with the flickering light of their fires, and providing next to no cover since most were simply sitting amongst the crates and barrels they were supposed to be transporting. Altair gave a silent oath as the two of them once again had to backtrack and stop in the narrow shadow of a pile of cargo, dodging the gaze of a patrol and pinned between two of the exposing fires lit by the loitering workers. He thoroughly loathed being unable to fly.

Finally, after much wasted time slipping by each warehouse and evading the enemy's eye, they finally chanced upon a neat, two-storey building that seemed to be an annex to one of the watch towers. Aside from the fire cast by the brazier burning brightly from the tower, the square in front of the structure was unusually well lit. A collection of four, heavily armed soldiers lingered by its entrance, balancing torches in their thickly mailed hands.

"_Va bene_," Ezio said with evident relief as they came to a halt at the corner of a nearby warehouse, safely shielded from the guards by a pocket of shadow. "This is the most likely place he would stay—fortified, but difficult to escape from."

Altair nodded thoughtfully as both of them swept the scene with their raptor's eyes, noting the tinge of gold aura just behind the buildings curtained windows. There was no doubt the Apple was here.

"We need to clear the entrance before we try to get inside."

"How would you propose we take out all of them without drawing attention?" Ezio asked quite conversationally, casting an eye at his fellow Assassin. "We can't exactly kill them from a distance—four sets of armor hitting the ground would trigger the alarm."

"I can at least reach the archer from here," the Master Assassin counted off, glancing up at the soldier in the watchtower overhead, the bored man staring blankly across the shadowed bay and leaning on his long bow. "If he topples into the water, the splash should draw away at least one of the sentinels, leaving three at best. Can you take two at once without allowing either of them to fall?"

"You underestimate me," the Florentine Assassin said with a mocking smirk, lifting his dual hidden blades. Altair simply shrugged in response, turning his attention to the guards before them.

Both of them tensed, frozen for a breathless moment, before the two Assassins leapt into motion simultaneously, and the events of the next few seconds happened with a precise flurry of action and reaction. Ezio raced to one side, under the cover of the warehouse's shadow, as Altair pivoted swiftly, using the momentum of his body to make up for the weakness in his left arm and sending a silvered knife deep into the throat of the archer. The man fell without a sound, shattering the silence as he hit the dark waters lapping against the pier.

As expected, one of the four helmed guards glanced at the others and moved to investigate, failing to notice as two flashes of white leapt upon his fellows as soon as his back was turned. Three torches fell from limp fingers and Altair grunted quietly as he carefully lowered the corpse onto the dock, extracting the throwing knife he had driven through the man's eye slot. Next to him, the Florentine eagle supported the two he had killed, gripping each by the chest plate and swinging them into an awkward sitting position on a nearby bench, his wrist blades still buried deep in their throats.

The Master Assassin waited for the last man to lean over the edge of the dock, squinting into the ripples for the source of the disturbance, before he flicked his throwing knife home into the back of the guard's neck. Another splash, then nothing.

Altair straightened and turned to the other to ask whether they should check for other entrances, before he realized that he was being left behind, the Florentine eagle already halfway through the door he had jerked open without another word.

"Ezio! Wait, don't just-!" he tried in a harsh whisper, hurrying to follow, but even as he spoke, he knew it was futile.

He had glanced a flash in the other Assassin's eyes, the bloodlust of his eagle as he sensed the proximity of the man he sought for revenge. However, he knew all too well the blindness caused by this rage, having experienced it not too long ago. As he pushed his way into the dimly lit interior of the building, he could only hope that the impending aggression his spirit sensed was only his paranoia, and not, as he feared, the Templar treasure's response to their presence, a serpent coiling in the shadows as it too realized that its prey was near.

* * *

Author's note: Not much happens in this (rather short) chapter, but I suppose you can think of it as the calm before the storm. The next chapter should be last, and the climax—not counting a possible epilogue. Thanks to all of you for sticking with this story for so long.


	11. Tenth

**Assassin's Creed:** _Alis Aquilae_

Tenth

Altair was a little startled as he realized he could see nothing, save for a slice of a lavish sitting room lit by a narrow stretch of reflected fire filtering through the entranceway behind him, the polished lacquer and silk chairs seeming out of place in the otherwise simple wood building. He took a careful step to one side and quietly shut the door, closing out the blinding band of firelight. Dark eyes narrowed as he searched for Ezio, wondering how the other Assassin had disappeared from sight and sense so quickly.

He dared not speak and give away his position, feeling the aura of both enemy and ally nearby, but unable to pinpoint either of them. The silence was unnerving, broken only by quiet creaks of wood that could just as easily have been a lowered footstep as a natural shift of the water-bloated planks. Altair brushed against one of the thickly woven curtains and began to consider pulling it away to let in just enough light, when a spark flared somewhere overhead and he found he did not need to.

The Apple's rather flamboyant golden glow leaked out from somewhere above him, briefly illuminating the square room and showing it was little more than an open space, encircled by a high balcony in place of a second floor. He was reminded somewhat of the slaver Talal's warehouse, and felt its same oppressive air. As the light gentled somewhat, allowing deep shadows to encroach upon the sides of the room, the Master Assassin finally caught sight of Ezio several steps ahead of him and followed his heated gaze to the brightest lit section of the second floor.

"Still alive I see, Auditore," a familiar voice called down lightly, its shallowly masked agitation evident despite the steadiness of the tone. The black-hooded face turned to Altair next and Borgia approached the terrace railing, the Apple clutched protectively in one hand. "And the famed Master Assassin as well. It's really too bad you did not follow your _master's_ orders; I was trying to make this easier for you."

The Masyaf eagle scowled in response but was silent, shaded eyes flicking about the smooth pillars of the wood railing and searching for a seemingly nonexistent path to the higher tier.

"Come down here and face me, Borgia," the Florentine Assassin barked out, his stance rigid and unmoving, but Altair could tell from the livid resolution in his voice that he was determined to reach the Templar commander, even should he need to tear down the terrace to do so. "Fight me like a man, though it's more than you deserve."

"Perhaps later. But for now, I am not your opponent," the Spaniard said with a smirk, lifting the artifact and allowing the ethereal light to spread across the two Assassins, but casting the edges of the room under the balcony into deeper shadow. The Master Assassin at first wondered why, until he caught the sound of movement all around them, lurking shapes growing visible in the darkness surrounding them on all sides. He retreated into the middle of the open space amongst the furniture, his back brushing against Ezio's as he too instinctively distanced himself from the unseen enemies.

"A funny thing about illusions," Borgia continued calmly, eying both eagles as they each carefully drew a weapon. "Even if I tell you that these enemies are not real, even if you know that what you see is not possible, it only takes the slightest doubt to shatter your resolve."

Altair heard the other Assassin give an impatient snarl, looking up at the hooded figure and biting out, "What kind of fool tells his opponents his tricks? I don't care what these figments are— my instincts can at least tell that _you_ are no mirage, and that these can do little to stop me from killing you."

Ezio rushed forward without waiting for a response, skillfully dodging one of the many closing-in figures that were still unintelligible in the darkness, and readying to leap for the bottom of the balcony's trellis. The Masyaf eagle covered him, emptying his scabbard of throwing knives into the shadows around them and quite easily driving back the scattering of enemies, felling them even before they could step into the narrow splash of light still pulsing from the Apple.

However, Borgia did not seem threatened even as the Florentine eagle drew near, never a good sign. Sure enough, just short of him reaching the wooden railing, a figure that had managed to evade the flurry of knives blocked his way, stepping abruptly from the shades and lashing forward with a long sword. The blow was neither particularly quick nor skillful, but Ezio completely froze, stumbling back to dodge the blow almost too late and recoiling instead of pushing past or retaliating.

The Master Assassin was rather taken aback as he watched Ezio quickly lose ground, only narrowly deflecting the barrage of strikes, his spirit flapping distraught wings and his usually adept form completely staggered. Altair glanced around at him irritably as his fellow eagle nearly backed right into him, hastily retreated under the advance of the enemy—a longhaired, middle-aged man in a noble's clothes, who honestly did not look like much of a threat.

"What are you doing?" Altair snapped over his shoulder, stabbing out with his saber to drive back one of the two figures attempting to flank him. "Concentrate! These are just illusions, remember?"

However, even as he spoke, he looked back forward and his eyes locked with the grey ones of the second man attacking him. Altair blinked, the name catching in his throat, and a second later, Malik's sword hilt drove into the side of his head. He staggered and just managed to catch himself on one hand before he hit the ground, his startled gaze fixing upon the rafiq's impassive face.

There was a laugh from overhead that brought the Masyaf eagle to his senses, and he growled, flying to his feet just in time to dodge a second sword slash.

"Just look at both of you," Borgia mocked, thoroughly enjoying their struggle. "It only takes a few phantoms for you to barely be able to lift your blades."

"Borgia, you _pezzo di merda_," the Florentine Assassin cursed harshly, attempting to lash out defensively with his rapier, but his strikes were distracted, lacking conviction, and were thus easily countered. One particularly overwhelming blow to his guard threw him back towards Altair, who was having equal difficulty holding his stance.

"Come now, Auditore, what's wrong? After all, it was your failure that caused your father's death all those years ago—surely you have no problem killing him again?"

Ezio's only reply was a snarl more like a cornered beast's than a man's, and the Master Assassin finally knew why he was having so much difficulty with his supposed opponent. At this realization, he also noticed, just as abruptly, an easy way to surpass this accursed illusion that was leaving them so imbalanced.

"Ezio, switch," Altair ordered swiftly, twisting and whirling around the other Assassin, rather dangerously turning his back on his opponent just as Malik lifted his sword for a cleaving strike. The Florentine eagle caught on in the split second that both apparitions swept blades towards their targets and mirrored his comrade's movement, tearing his gaze from his father's face.

Their exchange was quick and seamless, a flashed movement of white that could have easily been missed with a blink. In the space of the next breath, two hidden blades sprang forward from their cradles, burying into unfamiliar blood and driving two bodies into the floor.

The Master Assassin shook off the bolt of pain from his still aching shoulder as he extracted his wrist blade, glancing down with a little curiosity into his enemy's unseeing eyes, the exact shade of Ezio's. He took a moment, more out of habit than concern, to brush a hand over the now still face, shuttering the blank gaze.

He stood and calmly sheathed his long sword as scarlet life dripped from his fingers, hearing the Florentine Assassin doing the same behind him. As he watched, lines of gold light began to spill out from both the unmoving corpses before them, and the still indeterminable shapes in the darkness, until each of them vanished, the illusion broken. Altair could not help but smirk as he realized that the arrogant scoffs and laughter overhead had silenced.

"_Enough_, Borgia," Ezio spoke out with eerie calm, a piercing glare seeking out the black-cloaked man who had also grown motionless at his position on the balcony. "The Apple's petty tricks can no longer protect you."

"Hm. If you are so confident about that, you are free to attack me whenever you like," the Templar replied tightly, but both Assassins could sense, practically taste, the hesitation.

The Florentine Assassin gave his comrade a significant look, his eagle warning the other away from his prey, before jumping easily for the balcony and pulling himself onto the ledge adjacent from Borgia with little difficulty. Altair circled slowly towards the opposite edge of the room, ready to cut off the Templar in case he attempted to escape. His eyes were still narrowed, his stance tense, despite knowing that the enemy could not leave. There was still the danger of the golden manacles that could restrict the other Assassin's strike, but he knew at least that he would not fall to the same attack twice.

Ezio took his time to approach, watching his enemy's hand for a lifted weapon or any response from the Apple, but Borgia made no move, simply watching the Florentine eagle's advance.

"…Altair."

The Master Assassin cocked his head, almost amused at the Templar's last attempts to salvage his life. Obligingly, he sneered, "What is it?"

A dark hooded face flicked towards him, outwardly impassive but the anxiety only shallowly masked. "If you allow Auditore to kill me, you will not find out how to return to your own time, to your precious fortress."

Altair gave a quiet snarl. "And why should I believe you?"

"Because the method for your return would benefit me and my brothers as well."

Ezio frowned as his revenge was evidently interrupted, but he paused agreeably, meeting the Master Assassin's calmly questioning gaze. "I have waited years for this," he said resignedly in answer to the unspoken question, his tone clipped. "I suppose I can stay my blade for a few more minutes."

"Speak then, Templar," he said evenly, glaring at Borgia. "If you really wish to linger in this world a bit longer."

The commander straightened, glancing carefully between both Assassins and seeming to regain his confidence despite being cornered. "The two of you are extraordinarily alike. Did you ever notice that?" he asked calmly, apparently attempting to recover a sense of control. He was met only with stony silence and thus continued nevertheless. "You share the same blood and features, and the same… special ability, shall we say. I have heard that you Assassins once boasted of it, referring to it as Eagle's Vision, correct?"

Even Ezio looked curious at this point, slowly lowering his blade arm and asking cautiously, "Where are you going with this, Borgia?"

"Atavism," the Templar responded shortly, a small smirk visible when he realized that he was successfully holding their attention. "A recurring coincidence of genetics. I would not be surprised if a few years from now, your line will have another descendant who looks similar to both of you."

"Yes, but what is your _point_?" Altair cut in impatiently, gaze flickering constantly to the Apple in case this monologue was simply an attempted distraction as Borgia used the artifact to ensnare them.

"This Apple of Eden is known as the master of illusions, however, that is not its only capability—the past and the future are easily within its bounds, as time in itself is but an illusion. After all, what is this world but a collection of lies we take as truth?" the Spaniard continued easily, unhampered, pacing slowly to the edge of the banister to look at the Master Assassin more clearly. "However, even this treasure does not have the power to unconditionally bring into one illusion a figure who only exists in another. An anchor of sorts is needed, someone similar enough to hold the anomaly."

Dark eyes narrowed dangerously as the answer sank in, but Altair said nothing.

The arrogant tone had returned to Borgia's voice at this point. "It is not mere _chance_ that you were sent here, Altair, where a convenient fellow Assassin exists, a descendant of yours no less. I tried to explain it to you in the guise of your master to make it easier for you to accept, but you did not take to it. What I spoke was no deceit—Auditore is the only reason you are still here, the 'key' to allow you to return to your Masyaf."

Inversely to the Master Assassin's rigid silence, the Florentine one scoffed and easily brushed off the accusation, casually releasing one of his hidden blades again as he resumed his advance. "Have you heard enough lies, Altair? I'm not sure if his words even gave you any sense of closure, but I think I've had enough. Every breath he draws is quite a waste."

Borgia took a slow step away, his expression hard. "Go ahead, Auditore. But we shall see how long it takes until you follow me. The seeds of doubt are stronger than you think."

Altair looked away as the kill was felled, unwilling to admit it, but realizing that he heard truth in the Templar's words. A sudden disturbance of air caught his attention and he looked up sharply, realizing a little belatedly that Borgia's last act had been to throw the Apple down towards him, possibly in a vain attempt to keep it from Ezio a little bit longer. He reached up easily and caught it, the warm, silvered metal fitting comfortably against his glove.

He lifted the artifact to eye level as the gold light continued to swirl passively, providing only just enough light to see by.

"…You do not believe him, do you?" the Florentine Assassin asked slowly, interrupting his thoughts as he jumped lightly back down to the first floor and approached, flicking his arm free of blood with an evident, though silent, air of satisfaction.

"It would make sense," Altair responded carefully, dodging the question. "It explains why our Vision does not work on each other—we are too similar, it would be like facing a mirror into a mirror."

"So, what, are you going to try killing me again?" Ezio questioned, his tone flat as he idly lifted his still drawn hidden blade in a thinly veiled threat.

The Master Assassin frowned as he dropped the Templar treasure to his side. "No," he sighed patiently. "I am not a blind fool."

"But Borgia said that I am what's keeping you here. Your 'anchor,' as he termed it," the Florentine eagle reminded him as he folded his arms, his expression outwardly dubious. "That is the only lead we have. I'd like you to get back to your own time for more reasons than I can name, but there's no telling how much of what he said was actual fact."

"That Templar was merely a tool," Altair said quietly, turning the silver orb between his fingers. "Just as al Mualim was, just as the Apple wishes me to be. All the answers, the reason I was sent here, and the method for me to return, is known only to this artifact."

"And something tells me it's not exactly willing to divulge anything," Ezio said a little irritably, coming closer to inspect the Templar treasure with a rather suspicious eye. "Can't you just control it? Just convince it to bring you back?"

"I don't think I can. The illusion has changed," the Master Assassin spoke rather cryptically, the gold of the light reflecting in his eyes as he looked thoughtfully down at the orb.

The other Assassin raised a questioning brow, and Altair expounded a little impatiently. "I have spoken to you and Leonardo, gained knowledge of things concerning this supposed 'future.' If Borgia is to be believed, the powers of the Apple are extremely limited, bound by specific conditions and specifications. It cannot easily bring to one time, to one 'illusion,' what does not belong there. As I am now, I do not even belong to my own time. Killing you here would lead to nothing."

Ezio tilted his head at him, evidently thinking that the Master Assassin was overcomplicating the situation. "Do you want me to give you amnesia then?" he asked with a small smirk. "If you can just pretend that none of this happened, maybe you can go back to your old life."

Altair did not spare him a glance, ignoring him as he thought hard on it, until he realized that the Florentine Assassin's suggestion was—surprisingly—along the right track.

"…If none of this happened?" he repeated slowly, reflectively, glancing at the Apple still lying dormant in his hand. "That may be quite easy to arrange. An altered past can just as greatly affect the future after all."

It would be risky, he knew, for the Apple was unpredictable, even to its chosen wielders. But avoiding the attempt would be worse than failing it—it was difficult to say what his continued stay in this assumed future would cause.

The Masyaf eagle met Ezio's eyes as the other blinked at him, still a little lost in what he was saying. "I thank you for your help, brother," he spoke steadily, tone wrought with a sense of finality, tightening his hold on the artifact but offering the Assassin's salute with his left.

The golden light flared around him, twining across his senses and causing his eagle to flutter agitatedly, the Apple both eager and a little curious as to why Altair was so willingly opening himself to it. He said nothing, probing at it instead with spirit and mind, asking it to listen—not demanding, but almost humbly requesting. He stilled, stance impassive and calm, even as the bright, rather sickening flashes once again started to overwhelm him.

He was unsure if he would ever wake again after this, however he was honestly quite resigned to the fact. His vision was fading, but the last image he saw was the Florentine Assassin's honestly alarmed expression, his brown gaze not leaving Altair as the artifact consumed him. The Masyaf eagle heard a word, regrettably in Italian, but he held onto it, remembering, and wondered dully if it was a last insult thrown to him as he left.

"_Fratell_o_-!_"

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Author's Note: I apologize if there was a surplus of dialogue in this last one, but I was eager to discuss the atavism theory—no real evidence to support it (and I'm not quite sure if the term is correct), but there really needs to be a reason why the main Assassins (particularly Altair and Desmond) look so much alike.

Also, time travel and such has always been a confusing topic, thus feel free to ask if you did not understand any part of the chapter. Anyway, you can call this the end already I suppose, with just an (extremely short) epilogue after this. Thus, thanks to you all for reading and reviewing, I appreciate the support.


	12. After

**Assassin's Creed:**_ Alis Aquilae_

After

There was no confining darkness that enveloped him this time as his consciousness passed between illusions, instead replaced by an overwhelming light. Altair shuttered his eyes, retreating behind the barely helpful shade of his hood and his half-closed lids, watching mutely as the flashes of seemingly different worlds brushed across his senses. The images never lingered, wavering between stillness and motion as indecisively as a storm. Evidently, he realized a little unsteadily, the Apple was deciding what to do with him.

Only twice did the artifact pause long enough for him to comprehend his surroundings, and the first of which left him with a sense of foreboding no less unsettling than the artifact's frenzy of images. The pause within the odd landscape was unusually drawn out, much longer than any of the previous ones, as if it were more stable than the others. The Assassin looked around warily, sensing as well as seeing a stretched expanse flatter and more featureless than a desert, gray and emotionless, cut through only with geometrically clean, white lines of light that felt as alien as the Apple itself.

Here there was only space and silence, and he waited within it rigidly, his eagle quiet and almost fearing the eerie echo of its own voice, wondering uneasily if the lingering figment was due to the presence of another 'anchor.' He sincerely hoped against it, unsure of how another of his descendants—or possibly ancestors—could exist in such emptiness. Luckily, it was not long before the artifact he still held flickered the illusion away, carelessly discarding it as if losing interest. Just before the image vanished, Altair glanced a figure out of the corner of his eye, a young man standing alone in the open space, wearing white clothes of a strange cut. There was a fleeting moment when he thought he glimpsed dark eyes identical to his own looking in his direction, before the vision was replaced by the same, rather tiresome, uncertainty of flashing images.

The second time this whirl of mirages ceased was rather abrupt, the Apple finally seeming to settle on a verdict and tossing Altair rather impatiently away. He took a staggering step as the world solidified jerkily around him, and he only just managed to avoid stumbling against a motionless person. He realized vaguely that the Templar treasure had vanished from his hand and he glanced around quickly, assessing. He was amongst a tight group of people, most little more than commoners, standing stock still as if in fear or reverence.

His heart leapt as he recognized the usual robes of the residents of Masyaf, familiar rafiq and brothers mixed amongst the motionless townspeople in the fortress courtyard. He paused when he realized that he recognized their odd behavior, and his relief at his return was almost immediately extinguished. Almost as if to affirm his suspicions, the Assassin noticed a shifting in the crowd somewhere ahead of him and he quickly adjusted his stance, half turning his back as he saw _himself_ slipping easily past the innocents, his aura a subdued thundercloud after having just killed several of his brothers.

_How strange_, he thought with rather forced detachment as he hid from himself, watching the white-robed figure stalk into the fortress and out of sight. The only justification he could think of for this duality was that his past self—or his present self?—was acting as an anchor, keeping him within his own time despite his knowledge of the future. Altair frowned at the concept, the absurdity of this entire endeavor, but decided not to think too closely on it.

He threaded carefully past the mindless assembly and through the arched entrance, concealing himself amongst the library shelves. The act to lock his position in this world was simple, but timing would be crucial. The Assassin settled his eagle and waited, listening to the startling clang of the garden's gate as it dropped shut, prefacing an exchange of words that he was wholeheartedly loath to relive.

Amongst the clatter of blades that followed the clipped, heated conversation, Altair watched mutely as his supposed master descended the steps, taking the chance to draw closer to his student while he was occupied with the illusions of long-dead Templars reanimated in the fortress garden. He did not move, barely chancing a breath until the black robed figure had disappeared through the entrance, the barred gate lifting only briefly to admit him.

With the library to himself now, he swiftly mounted the staircase, flickering past the archway to avoid being seen by either himself or his current opponent and heading for the balcony upon which al Mualim had first addressed him. At the wooden doorway to his master's tower, he wavered, hesitating, the hardened obedience at first restraining his eagle and instinctively reminding him that no man, _dai_ or otherwise, had ever been allowed within the Grand Master's chambers.

Altair shook his head impatiently and pushed through, the quiet, slightly dim room admitting him with no trouble. He pinpointed the fine, pillar-encircled balcony and peered out of it cautiously, seeing the Apple's now familiar golden light dancing about the courtyard, skipping across the water of the fountain and reflecting up to him. From this angle, the fight against his master seemed rather one-sided, and he frowned as he observed his own form, his strikes wide and admittedly a little careless from fatigue.

Despite the initial imbalance of the duel, he did not have long to wait for his opening, finally seeing himself gain the advantage over the older man, leaping forward and driving both enemy and embedded hidden blade downwards into the ground. The Assassin watched from above, seeing the Apple roll away to the edge of the fountain, glinting rather maliciously as student and dying master exchanged a few more words, inaudible with the distance, but still fresh enough in Altair's memory for him to remember.

There was a little hesitation as he straightened, both on the balcony and in the garden, the one above taking his last throwing knife from his shoulder scabbard. He was unsure if disrupting this supposed past would even affect the future, wondering if, with this simple act, he would forget the existence of the brothers he had been with for the past few days. His eagle gave a mournful croon of loss as he clenched his fist, forcibly flinging the dagger towards the lone figure standing below before he could change his mind.

The following sensation was strange, he for an abrupt moment both seeing the eagle-motif knife tear through the white hood by the shoulder, and simultaneously feeling the searing pain as it gouged into flesh at the base of his throat, only just missing his jugular.

Altair gave a cry that reverberated in the silent garden, the hand that had been reaching out for the Apple flying instead to the new wound as his already weakened body failed, driving him onto one knee. His spirit fluttered, scattering feathers as his suddenly confused mind tried to gather itself, trying to remember whether the pain in his shoulder had been caused by a blade or by a bullet, whether the water soaking his robes was from the fountain or from Venice's canals. Vaguely, he heard hurried footsteps approaching and turned blearily to see a figure reaching out to support him before he collapsed, not knowing whether the eyes he expected to be fixing upon him in concern would be grey or dark brown.

Ending.

* * *

Author's Note: Hm, the end is a little open, but I hope it wasn't too awkward. This is my final note on this story, so thanks again for reading and reviewing. I should be starting a new fic as soon as I've thought of one, thus if you have any suggestions, they'd be greatly appreciated.


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